Somewhere in Time
by Kayley Taylor
Summary: Free-spirited and loose Christine Werden lands in eighteenth-century Port Royal with imaginative and scheming Mrs. Ashford, a local baker. Will Turner starts to fall for Christine, but her kind is hardly prim and proper. AU
1. A Night to Remember

Chapter One

An Evening to Remember

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the OC's, nor do I own the title of the story.**

**Author's Note: This plot bunny has been in my head for months and has been getting angry at me for not writing it! All I ask of you is that you enjoy it!**

**I swear that the two OCs in the story, especially the main ones, are _not_ Mary-Sues!**

**Just to let you know, this is alternate universe, starting from after Curse of the Black Pearl. Also, the _Pirates_ trilogy never existed. It may sound confusing, but I promise it will make much more sense as the story goes along.  
**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The suitcase was too heavy.

I knew I over packed. I always did. One outfit for breakfast turned into another outfit for swimming. That outfit turned into one for shopping and dinner. Why not add another one for spur-of-the-moment, possible, late night fun?

Five outfits in one day. Multiply that by seven – seven being the grand total of days that my family and I were staying in Kingston, Jamaica – and that equals to a total of thirty-five outfits.

Did I pack an evening outfit for each night? Or was it only for a few nights, worrying that my parents would hear my older sister, Irene, and me sneaking out in the room next to their's? No, I was convinced that it was only for a few nights.

In addition to outfits came the shoes and accessories. I knew I brought three pairs of flip-flops, two (or was it three?) pairs of flats, and three (...no, four?) pairs of heels. I had packed all the earrings, bracelets, and necklaces I could fit into a sandwich-sized storage bag. Accessories didn't take that much room. It was the shoes and clothes I had to worry about.

My suitcase was, miraculously, one pound under the weight limit.

Even as my suitcase trailed behind me as I walked next to my twenty-year-old sister, I could feel it's weight. It felt like there was a child in my suitcase. Only now did I begin wondering why I didn't pack lighter. If I bought something, I would have to put it in my suitcase, thus paying twenty-five dollars for it. Would I even have that much money left over? This was a vacation, after all, and I was a female.

Doubtful I would, I thought with a small smirk.

I looked to the right of me. My parents were walking next to me, their card keys in their spare hands. Irene must have ours.

For every vacation we had gone on, our parents gave my sister and I our own room. I wasn't sure why, but I had never asked. I felt grateful to be sharing a room with only my sister, instead of my parents. This _was_ my sister, though – we hardly got along perfectly.

I hoped that I wouldn't have to share a bed with her. She took up too much of the bed while she slept -- I found that out several years ago on our vacation to Los Angeles. Irene apparently thought that since she was older, that entitled her to more than half of the bed. She enjoyed talking to me as she fell asleep, as well, which only aggravated me more when she slept next to me. In a separate bed, I could pretend that I was asleep, at least.

Irene stopped at the chestnut-colored door of room 226 and put the card into the slot of our door. I saw that our parents were in the room next to ours, room 228. I knew that my sister and I would have to be more quiet when our parents were in the room next to us. We learned from last year's vacation, after being a year apart, that this was the time to catch up on the past year. Even though my sister and I had our fair share of ups and downs, she would always be my other half before any guy.

Irene had just completed her sophomore year at the University of Michigan. She had been away from our home in Brooklyn, New York, and was reveling in her first days away from hectic college life, done with academics, like me, for three months. I was excited for the long, lazy summer that lay ahead for me. Next year would be my senior year of high school. I had just one year left before I was bound to the life of a college freshman – taking the same path that my sister had.

Seeing that the green light by the card slot was flashing, Irene took the card out of the slot and turned the silver handle. I gave a quick smile to my parents, who were heading into their room, then went into mine and my sister's room.

When I stepped into the room, I noticed it was uncomfortably cold, like most hotel rooms seemed to. It sent a chill up my bare arms and legs, making long-hidden goosebumps appear. I could hear the air conditioner under the window being blasted. I made a mental note to turn off the air conditioning as soon as Irene and I got situated.

The clean, white tile reflected off the sunlight of the window. I was wary to take off my flip-flops on the tile – it seemed like the tile would be cold and make my feet clammy.

The kitchen was small, complete with a small, white counter against the wall, along with a mini-fridge and sink. Conjoined was a small sitting area with two chairs that had a distinct floral pattern that I never wanted to see again.

I began to wonder why our hotel room was so unattractive. Were my parents getting the better room, or was this just an awful hotel? It couldn't be an awful hotel – there was such a thing as pictures before you committed.

I moved onto the bedroom. The sheets were a light lemon color with that same eye-aching floral pattern. The floral pattern now seemed to be everywhere, once I paused for a minute and looked around our hotel. It was on the bedside lampshade, on the cushion for the desk chair, on the chairs in the small living area... it was awful.

I didn't bother looking in the bathroom for fear of booking a ticket back to New York.

With ease, Irene set her large, black suitcase on the side of the bed closest to the French-doored balcony. Looking past her, I could see that we had a balcony with a view of the parking lot and the road leading up to the hotel.

Trying to put the frustration inside of me to good use, I attempted to lift my suitcase, but to no prevail. I nearly kicked it out of frustration, and would have, were it not for my sister being on the other side of my bed, her hands on her hips, looking at me with an amused grin on her face.

"Do tell me how to smuggle a first grader past airport security in a suitcase, Christine," Irene teased.

That only fueled my frustration. Thanks to her words, though, I was able to lift my equally large suitcase onto my side of the bed – next to the floral lampshade and floral-cushioned chair for the writing desk.

"Some of us do not have rocks for muscles," I grumbled.

Irene was the health nut of the family. She was a tennis player. Exercise was her life.

"That's why you have to get some, you twig," she teased, going to adjust the temperature in the room.

"It's freezing in here!" I said, rubbing my hands together in a weak effort to conserve the minimal warmth I still had.

"Go outside," she said indifferently, turning the air conditioning up. "You'll warm up fast out there."

Irene was right: I would have no trouble warming up. I decided to follow her suggestion. I zipped open my suitcase and fished for my blue-and-white-striped bikini. Quickly, I realized that I would have to go into the bathroom to change – into that bathroom with, most likely, the same, God-awful floral pattern that appeared everywhere else in the hotel room.

I changed in the bathroom, which, I was surprised to see, had no trace of a flower. The bathtub curtain was ivory, with not a splash of color. I had never been more happy to say that a room was as plain as that bathroom.

I slipped my bikini on, put my jean shorts over the bottom, and looked at myself in the mirror. My belly button piercing I had gotten last year was a light-blue jeweled piercing today – a perfect match to my swimsuit. I remember wanting that piercing horribly last year. My parents had let me get it because they had said that it was my body and that I could do what I wanted with it, but I would have to deal with the consequences. Besides the piercing initially hurting the first week and a half, I thought there were no consequences -- I loved it! My sister was shocked to see it on me last summer. I had wanted to keep it a surprise until the vacation – Christmas was not the time to show her it.

I exited the bathroom and tossed my orange tank top on the bed and saw an empty box of yogurt on the counter. Irene was most likely stocking the refrigerator with it. Yogurt was her vice. It did nothing to me but make my stomach churn.

"You're stocking the fridge with _yogurt_?" I said in disdain.

Irene popped up from under the counter and smiled. "I'm at least choosing to eat healthy."

Before I would receive a lecture on eating something somewhat healthy to lengthen my lifespan, I decided to leave while I could.

"Keep the door locked while you eat your pine nuts and Yoplait," I said before leaving.

* * *

The moment I stepped outdoors, onto the sun-heated clay tiles, I realized how hot Jamaica really was. It was hotter than Brooklyn was in the summer. It was the sort of heat that didn't hit you right away, it was the sort that got under your skin. I felt the sun and humidity more than the heat.

To try to and prevent the heat that would otherwise inevitably overcome me, I decided to go into the pool. I noticed it was large, and the water was lukewarm.

I walked in until the water met my waist. The hot sun began to beat down on my back. Mixed with the sun, my long, chocolate brown hair felt prickly against my back. I wished that I had brought a ponytail holder and glanced down at my wrist to see if, on the off chance, I brought one. To temporarily fix the problem, I swept my hair over one of my shoulders. I could feel the beads of sweat beginning to form on my back. Maybe the heat would hit me sooner than I thought it would.

I looked around the pool. Young children to grandparents were at the pool. It was clear that the tourists were from all over the world. A father was talking in French to his young son in the shallow end of the pool, and two women in their early twenties with golden skin were speaking Chinese. The harder I listened, though, the majority seemed to be speaking English.

I looked on the opposite side of the pool and saw a pool-side bar. It was a good of a place as any for a party of one to be.

I swam over to it and sat down at one of the pebbled-covered stools. I looked down at the pebbled covered counter and traced lazily over the pebbles.

I wasn't even sure of the drinking age in Jamaica. With a smirk growing on my face, I realized that I was sure Irene would know.

"Age?" a voice laced with a thick Jamaican accent asked me.

I diverted my light blue eyes from the counter to the owner of the voice. His skin was a rich, dark color, his eyes equally dark. His hair was so short that it was nearly a buzz cut. Through his t-shirt, I could see that he had an athletic build. He seemed to be about twenty-years-old. Instantly, I was attracted to him.

I tried to focus on the question he had asked me. I couldn't say that I was seventeen, I was sure that eighteen was the drinking age. I knew that I could pass as eighteen, I was four months away from it. The only question was if I would need a form of identification for it.

"It's not very polite to ask a woman her age," I said coyly.

The man smirked. "I can assume, den, dat you're a bit young to be consumin' alcohol."

Looking back down at the counter, I knew that was the wrong thing to say. I tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"I just thought that you might want some company," I said innocently, flickering my eyes to the empty row of stools, save for a couple in their fifties on the end. "It is true that lifeguards and the sort get bored on duty, isn't it?"

The man chuckled. "I can 'ardly be called a lifeguard, Miss..."

"Werden," I finished for him. "Christine Werden."

"Christine," he nodded lightly, smiling. "Pleasure to meet ya, Christine." He extended a hand. "Adam."

I shook Adam's hand, mine getting lost in his. We locked eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Adam," I replied.

I could feel the spark of chemistry being ignited between us. The first spark always excited me -- I always wondered where it would take me and the person.

"Where do ya come from?" Adam asked.

"The US," I replied. "New York, to be specific."

He nodded again and started playing with a white rag in his hands, most likely used for washing glasses.

"Family vacation, then?" he asked.

I could already feel that there was something between us. If I said yes to his question, then there would be a smaller chance of us getting together after his shift one of these days. He might think that it would be too hard to escape my parent's assumed eagle-eyed watch, or he wouldn't want me to get in trouble for sneaking out.

"No, actually," I lied. "I'm here with my older sister."

"Ah," Adam said, a small smile on his face. "No parents, den?"

"Nope," I replied, praying that my parents weren't behind me.

Adam set the rag aside. "You wouldn't mind gettin' ta know each oder a little better after my shift, den, would you?"

A smug smile grew onto my face as I realized I was right: it was going to be much easier to see him outside of his shift if he was under the pretense that my parents weren't with my sister and I.

"Not at all," I said, not even bothering to play the tease.

"I get off at 8:00," Adam said. "Meet at... 9:00? Across the street from the hotel?"

I was already too excited for the evening to contain my now child-like smile.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, that would be great."

"Great," he replied.

I looked to the left of me to see that a platinum blond woman in her thirties was swimming up to the bar. It was best to let him work now – we could talk all we wanted later.

"I should let you get back to work," I said. "9:00, though?"

"9:00, dressed for dancing," he corrected.

Dancing. I _knew_ this was going to be a better evening than I bargained for.

"Dressed for dancing," I repeated.

We both began to go our separate ways. Adam turned his attention to the woman that swam up, and swam back to the hotel to tell Irene of my new plans for the evening.

* * *

The clatter of the plastic spoon against the yogurt cup wasn't the loudest thing in the room. Even the television, which was on a news channel, seemed like it was being played at a hushed level. The most deafening thing in the room was Irene's gaping stare at me.

I had just told her, happily, that I was going to be busy tonight, that I had met someone down by the pool who was going to take me out this.

Silence was the response I had gotten.

I swallowed nervously, but kept my gaze on her. My heart began to race within my chest. The uneasy silence and the stony expression from Irene made me more nervous than the same expression on my parents. She was the fun, easy-going, laid-back one. Why had my announcement of my plans for tonight made her seem like _she_ had never had done something like this?

"You _what_?" she asked stonily.

That very tone made my heart jump. I tried to remain calm, but my heart was beating so fast, I felt it was about to pop out of me and land on the disgusting, cold, white-tiled floor.

"Irene, come on," I pleaded, sitting across from her, cross-legged, on the bed. "Adam seems really nice. Besides, you haven't even met him yet!"

"Damn straight, I haven't met him yet!" Irene said, her light blue eyes now flickering a spark of pure anger. "Have you lost your _mind_, Christine? You've known the guy for five minutes and you decide to go on a date with him? God knows what the man is capable of. He could be a rapist, or – or a serial killer, for all you know!"

She was being completely unfair. Irene never acted like this before. Usually, she, with a smile, would have let me. Now she was trying to protect me – from what?

"He's really nice, though!" I said, grasping at whatever straws may still convince her. "He..."

I realized then that I didn't know much about Adam. I refused to believe Irene's point of view. He didn't seem like that sort of the person. Adam seemed genuinely nice. He had smiled and flirted with me, and there was that instant spark of chemistry between us.

"He's just really nice!" I said. "Irene, you have to believe me on this one. Adam is completely harmless, and all he wants to do is just go on one date with me."

I half expected for Irene to begin her protest, but she just sat, holding her yogurt cup, looking at me patiently. She looked patient, at least. Maybe she was plotting what to say next, instead.

"We're going dancing tonight. We'll be walking there. It's a busy area for miles, Irene. I'm pretty sure that if he was going to do anything to me, he would choose to do it in a less secluded place."

Irene lied down and put the yogurt cup on the nightstand, turning her focus on the popcorn ceiling.

"You immature, little child," she said, enunciating each syllable.

I was genuinely taken aback by her insult. She had never acted like this before.

"What?!" I asked, dismayed.

She sighed. "Christine, I..." Irene trailed off momentarily, then said. "You knew him for five minutes. You could have taken his flirtations and kindness the wrong way. He may seem like a nice guy, but in reality, God knows what he's like."

I bit my tongue to stop another argument from erupting between us. She momentarily stopped talking, too.

"You know what? I'm not going to stop you, Christine. You're going to be eighteen in October, you'll be an adult, nobody's going to tell you what you can and cannot do then. Might as well learn now."

She was letting me, go, yes, but it was almost as if she was letting me because she didn't want to hear me complain over it. Irene reminded me of a parent who let her child get what they want just so they didn't have to hear the child whine. I felt nearly guilty as to why she let me go on tonight's date, but I wasn't about to say anything that would change her mind.

"Thank you," I said, smiling sweetly.

* * *

The few hours between the meeting with Adam and the date seemed to drag. I found myself looking at the television, not paying attention to what was actually on, and looking over at the clock every few minutes. I began to feel more and more impatient for 9:00 to roll around. At 7:30, I finally allowed myself to get ready. That seemed to be too much time, even for me, but I was grasping at whatever I could to keep myself occupied until 9:00.

Leaving Irene on our bed, I went to the bathroom to begin to heat up her curling iron. After I plugged it into the wall, I turned around to see my sister right behind her.

"Get dressed," Irene said. "Let me do your hair."

I was a bit surprised. I thought that Irene was so against me going out tonight to see Adam.

"Why?" I asked dumbly.

"Because I realized that it was wrong to react the way I did," she said formally. "And for calling you an immature, little child. Even if you are," she said teasingly.

I grinned. "Apology accepted, big sis."

"But _you_," she said, her voice light, grabbing me by the shoulders. I looked level at her. We were nearly the same height and looked nearly identical – she was me, three years aged. "If you had waited even one day longer to go on a date with him, I wouldn't have had to call you what you are!"

I laughed. I didn't bother telling her that she may, somewhere in our argument this afternoon, that she may have had a point.

"Just help me look nice," I teased.

I knew that we were over our fight when she still agreed to help me. After putting on my v-neck, red, empire waist dress, Irene helped me curl my hair, using her fingers as a comb to loosen the curls. Afterwards, she applied a smoky eye, that being the only bold makeup on me. She thought the dress, along with the dramatic eyes, were the only thing that I needed for the evening.

After Irene did my hair and make-up, I examined myself in the mirror. My sister did, as well, and smiled, most likely out of satisfaction.

"You look good, little sis," she smiled, a trace of playfulness in her voice.

I smiled. "Thank you."

Irene didn't stay sentimental for long. She quickly moved on to a different subject.

"Your clutch," she reminded me. "You need to prepare it. You only have ten minutes left."

Peeking out from the bathroom, I saw that the digital clock on the nightstand read 8:50. How had eighty minutes gone by like it was ten?

Opening my suitcase, I scrounged in it for my small, red clutch. After searching through the sea of clothes, I found it at the bottom of my suitcase.

"Lipstick and foundation," Irene said from the bathroom. I turned around just in time to catch the silver tube and blue compact towards me.

I tucked my brown hair behind my ears. What else did I need?

_Cell phone_, I thought. _Passport and driver's license._

I put my cell phone that was on my nightstand in my clutch, along with my passport and driver's license that was in my carry-on. It felt like I was missing something.

I caught a glimpse of my bare feet while I looked for the missing item, whatever it may be, to bring with me.

That's when I realized: I was missing shoes.

I tore through my suitcase in an effort to find the red high heels I brought with. A few moments later, I found them. I sat on the bed and quickly put them on and stood up: clutch, shoes, and dress.

My sister inspected me from the bathroom, leaning against the door frame. I knew I looked stressed, she didn't have to say anything.

"Be back by 8:00 tomorrow morning," Irene teased. "Mom and Dad want us to go to the Bob Marley Museum with them."

I groaned inwardly. I would love spend the morning many other ways than at the Bob Marley Museum.

"Will do," I said to her, heading for the door.

"If you're hungover tomorrow morning, I'll say that it's the flu," she said.

"You're an angel," I said, half-seriously, half-sarcastically.

Irene smirked. "Just go, Christine."

I followed her order, taking one last look at her as I shut the door behind me. I walked the short distance to the elevator, then rode down to the lobby by myself. I felt oddly self-conscious as I looked around at the tourists in shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops. I was in a dress that fell slightly above my knees and wearing heels. Thanks to Irene, though, I looked decent.

I walked out from the cool, air-conditioned lobby into the sticky night air of Kingston. My heels click-clacked against the pavement. Across the street, I could see Adam. Looking both ways, I ran (as fast as heels could safely take me) across the street and met him.

He smiled widely. I knew that Irene had been wrong. Adam was a perfectly safe person.

"Hey!" I said.

"Hey!" Adam embraced me warmly, something I wasn't expecting. I hugged him back.

I noticed that, with heels on, he was about three inches taller than me. It was hard to tell how tall he was when he was working.

He laced his hand through mine. We began walking down the street. There was an awkward silence, the same one that two strangers always shared.

"How are you?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Good," he said. "You?"

"Good," I said.

Another stretch of silence as we walked down the street together, hand-in-hand.

Eventually, we began to talk. He talked about his work and life, and asked me about mine. I found out that he lived a block or so away from the night club, and that he walked to work everyday. He loved it, especially on the sunny days.

Our walk to the night club was just a few blocks from the hotel. I was surprised to see that it was a semi secluded area. The traffic had slowed down, and trees were more abundant than back at the hotel.

"This is it," Adam said.

The night club was walk-in, free of charge, it seemed. The walls were a bright yellow color, and the pillars holding up the roof were green, red, and yellow. There was a bar in the back of the small night club. A band was in the corner of the bar: there was one with a shaker, one with a set of bongos, and two with some other instruments that weren't familiar to me. My pulse instantly started racing in excitement. This was going to be an evening to remember.

Through the semi-crowded night club, Adam and I made our way to the bar. He lead the way, me holding his hand. We sat down at the bar. A bartender instantly came up to serve Adam.

"Hey, Adam!" the bartender said. "Good ta see you, man!"

_God, do all the bartenders in this city know each other?_ I wondered.

"Hey!" Adam greeted.

"Wid a girl, no less," the bartender said playfully.

"Ah, yes," Adam dismissed. I was thankful for his dismissal. I didn't want to spend the night talking to a bartender – not the one that worked at this night club, at least.

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked.

Adam's dark eyes met mine before saying, "Two shots."

The bartender filled two shot glasses with what I guessed was vodka. He handed one to me and one to Adam.

We clinked our small glasses together, then took the shot. It burned my throat and lungs as I swallowed and made my eyes water. This was strong vodka -- I already knew that I would be having, at the very least, a headache tomorrow morning.

"Good," I said, trying to sound like I could take more than two more shots of this.

"Want ta dance?" Adam asked me. The band started playing an upbeat song, the bongos at a steady, rapid tempo.

"Yeah!" I said over the music.

Adam and I stood up and found a space for two people, which, we were discovering, was more difficult than it seemed.

The longer the night went, the more blurry it became. After a song or two, we would go back to the bar, have a shot, and go dance. I didn't remember much past the third shot. I couldn't say how many shots I had, or how long we were even in the night club. I just remember dancing and the rapid, gradually distorted beat of the bongo drums.

Quite a while, I was sure, had passed when Adam said into my ear, "Want to go on a boat?"

In my drunken stupor, a boat sounded wonderful.

"Yeah!" I said.

I had to hold on extra tight to Adam's hand. Everything seemed to be spinning. Things seemed farther away then they really were. I pushed on, ignoring my internal questions as to whether it would be good to be in the water right now.

"Who's boat is it?" I asked, slurring my words when I saw a red boat on the back of the night club.

"Robert's," Adam explained. "I'm sure dat he won't mind, dough."

I shrugged and started to walk down the shore, but stumbled instead. I caught myself, starting to feel nausea settling in the pit of my stomach. I knew tomorrow morning would not be pleasant.

Adam dragged the boat to the shore. I could see more clearly that it was a rowboat, once I was in it and we were on the water.

"How are you likin' da evening so far, Christine?" Adam asked, once we were fairly far away from shore.

"I am _loving _it," I enunciated. "It's amazing. It's so much better than doin'... well, I dunno, _nothing_ in a hotel room!"

I was drunk. I was fully aware of it. I just couldn't stop talking. It was physically impossible for me to stop talking when I was drunk.

"You know what I've always wanted to do?" I asked.

"What?" Adam asked.

I stood up. "I've always wanted to dance in a boat."

He chuckled.

Was he mocking me?

"No!" I said, standing up. "I'm serious. I think it'd be fun!"

"Not in a boat like this," he warned. "Christine, I think you should sit down."

"Oh, c'mon, Adam! Lighten up!" I began to sway from side to side with my eyes closed, unaware that I was rocking the rowboat.

"Christine!" he said, his tone hard. "Sit. Down!"

Adam sounded angry. I wondered if maybe I shouldn't dance on the boat.

I sat down, but it wasn't steel that I sat down on, like before. It was water.

I was surrounded by it.

It started filling my lungs. I made the mistake of breathing in the water. That resulted in coughing and wasting air that should have stayed in me.

I had no idea what way was up. When I opened my eyes, everything looked dark. Right was no different from left, and up was no different than down. Everything was dark.

Suddenly, everything was black.

* * *

**Reviews are always welcome!**


	2. Painting

Chapter Two

Painting

**Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

Everything, somehow, was different.

The change was dramatic for me. I felt everything different at once.

My head was throbbing. I knew that was due to the alcohol I consumed last night. My eyes were also hurting, a dull throbbing sensation forming behind them. I already knew today would not be a good day.

My chest felt tight. I wasn't sure why that was. It felt almost as if there were water in my lungs.

Through an open window, I could hear a bird chirping loudly. I could swear that it was right next to my ear, chirping until I lost my hearing.

I thought the bird was outside, at least. I wouldn't know the difference.

I put one hand on my forehead. My skin felt dry – the sort of dry stiffness that settles on the skin after swimming in the ocean.

I tried to run my hand through my hair, but it felt hard and tangled, hardly unlike the soft waves it had been last night. A few strands ripped apart as I attempted to do so, causing my eyes to water, even though they were closed.

I knew that I was laying on some sort of bed. Where, though? In my drunken stupor, had I gone home with Adam? It felt like I was still in my dress, though.

Something didn't feel right to me. Fear churned in the pit of my stomach at finding out what.

Instead of going out with Adam like I had last night, it felt like I had gone swimming an hour or two ago.

I remembered Adam asking me to go on a boat last night. I had. I remembered dancing like a drunken fool on said boat. I, unfortunately, had.

That was when it hit me: I fell into the water. I remembered that clearly. The same fear rushed over me: Not being able to breathe, water filling my lungs, the darkness... Reliving it terrified me.

I was alive, though. Adam must have saved me.

Why didn't I remember it? Was I dead? Was I finally in Heaven – or wherever those who died went?

_No_, I thought. _I must be in Adam's house._

I was instantly filled with relief. Adam had saved my life. Without him, I would otherwise be at the bottom of the sea, nothing but a corpse.

I had gone onto a boat in the middle of the night, though. My dress still felt fairly damp, considering that I thought it was morning. It felt like it – or, I, rather – had been drying for two hours or so.

To prove that it was, indeed, morning, I opened my eyes. I knew it was a mistake when I saw the first ray of light. My eyes and head hurt even more than they had before. Before shutting my eyes, I saw yellow walls.

Even when they were shut, no relief was provided. Just that one moment of harsh sunlight made my head pound and eyes throb with pain. I couldn't help but whimper softly in self-pity. I prayed that Adam was far enough away to not hear my self-pity. I heard no laughing next to me. I wondered if Adam was even in the room.

I prepared myself to open my eyes and feel the sharp light again. I did so – this time, I kept my eyes opened.

The ceiling's white color seemed brighter than any white I had ever seen, even more so with the rays of sunlight streaming across with it. I refused to close my eyes. I knew that I would just have to deal with seeing the bright lights once more. My eyes would get adjusted to the light much faster.

To the left of me, I could see a pale yellow wall. I turned my head to see it. Nothing was nailed onto the wall. It was blank.

This _was_ Adam's room. Where was he, then?

I sat up to see four yellow walls surrounding me. This was not a bedroom. True, it had a bed, something that appeared to be a dresser, and a writing desk, but it seemed almost as if this was some long-forgotten bedroom on a historical reservation.

I began to panic. Where was Adam? It was morning, and, here I was, in a bedroom that hardly looked like it belonged to an adult man. There was no sight of him, either.

Adam had to be here. He was the only person I was with last night. I knew that I was with him when I fell into the water. He had to have been the one that rescued me. His was the only house that I could be in!

"Adam?" I called out, wary. I sat up.

There was no sign of Adam. There was no place for hiding in this room, thinking that he was playing a trick on me. It didn't even have a closet!

I saw that there was a door to my left. Maybe he had let me be and was checking on me ever so often.

Who lived in a house like this, though? The room alone looked like it was built centuries ago!

There was no sign of Adam. No footsteps, no talking, not even a rustle.

My heart began to speed up even more. Anxiety pumped through my body. I wanted this to be an awful nightmare, one that would end any moment, awoken from the hairdryer that Irene was using, or even my parents knocking on my door.

I realized, with an anxiety that I had never before felt, that this wasn't a nightmare. I was awake, frightened, and had no idea where I was.

"Adam, if this is a joke, I'm not into it!" I said. The waver in my voice was undeniable. I was realizing that I was not with Adam. The inevitable thought of where, exactly, I was made me feel sick to my stomach.

I tried to tell myself that it was impossible that I was anywhere else but with Adam. He was the only person that I had been with last night!

Deep down, though, that was wrong.

I heard footsteps coming down the hallway. My heart froze. I was terrified to see who it was. To see Adam would make me relieved, a gross understatement. I didn't care about my parents and Irene (or, quite possibly both) yelling at me about sneaking out and coming back too late.

My mouth went dry as I heard the doorknob turn. I knew that it wasn't Adam. I wasn't sure if I could even allow myself to see who it was.

I felt ready to vomit, and none of it had to do with my numerous shots last night. My chest felt even tighter. Of all things to think of at the moment, I wondered if I was going to cry.

A woman poked her head into the room. Her skin was so light that I wondered if she had ever seen the light of day. Her ivory skin was a sharp contrast between her dark brown hair in a tidy bun, a few curly tendrils escaping it. She had a face that was beginning to subtly show it's age, but her delicate bone structure overpowered it.

Her brown eyes were inquisitive, her full lips slightly parted. Her gaze made me feel even more sick. Why was this woman just _staring_ at me?

She opened the door more and walked in, smiling gently. She had on a low-cut, dark green dress, accentuating her chest.

I noticed two things that were very, very wrong: this could not possibly be Adam's mother, nor was this a typical dress, although, I wasn't as nearly concerned with the latter. What I did need to be concerned with was who this woman exactly was. This, plainly, was not Adam's mother, or any relative of his, for that matter. She could be a neighbor or a friend.

Her dress, though, was one that I had never seen in person. It had always been nothing but a picture in a textbook.

I didn't know where to begin. Everything was wrong. Nothing seemed to be as it should. The room couldn't pass for a modern bedroom, and I had no idea what to think of the woman in the dress.

My heart was lodged in the pit of my stomach. It was one of the worst feelings I had ever felt.

"Good to see you're awake, finally," the woman said. I noted she had a British accent – not a surprise, since I knew that Jamaica was still considered a British colony.

I blinked in utter confusion at the woman, still trying to comprehend the scenario. The woman looked at me blankly. I felt like a frog in Science class that was about to be disceted – I knew that something awful was going to happen to me, but I had no idea what.

"Peter was worried you passed out," she said after a long, painful silence.

I was intrigued now, only out of sheer, morbid fear.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

An expression of light concern brushed over her face.

"You mean... you don't remember?" she asked.

_What_ was I supposed to remember? The worst immediately came to mind: someone had died, I was kidnapped, I was drugged.

"No," I said, my voice quavering.

"Peter found you in the water this morning," she began, most likely hoping that would spark my memory. It didn't. I remembered falling into the water when it was dark.

Another question was forming: Who was Peter? Was he Adam's brother, father, or a neighbor even?

"Who's Peter?" I asked.

"The cobbler's apprentice," she answered simply.

This had to be some sick, sick joke that Adam was playing on me. It could even be a nightmare, I didn't care which it was, just as long as I knew that I would get back to the hotel before my parents would send me on the first flight back to Brooklyn!

"The – The cobbler's apprentice," I stuttered.

The woman gave me an odd look. "Yes, a cobbler is one who --"

"I know what a cobbler is!" I snapped.

A lump formed tightly in my throat, constricting me. I didn't want to cry here. I was terrified enough as it was, I didn't need the embarrassment of crying in front of a stranger.

"Where am I?" I demanded. "Where's Adam?"

"You're right above me bakery," she said.

_I'm above a bakery. That solves _everything_,_ I thought sarcastically.

"Besides that," I said, annoyed. "Am I still in Kingston?"

The woman looked concerned. Just by her expression, I knew that I wasn't. I wasn't sure what seemed more appealing right now: Screaming, crying, or getting rid of the nausea growing by the minute in my stomach.

"This is Port Royal, dearie," she said, walking towards me. "You were on a boat that would have landed here, weren't you?"

Peter, whoever he was, did find me in the water. At least one thing was cleared up.

Where was Port Royal, though? Was it near Kingston? Had I just drifted near shore some how?

"Where's Adam, though?" I pressed. "He said his house was a block away from the nightclub."

I wondered how dangerous this woman was. A man named Peter saving me seemed like nothing but a lie. Adam would have been able to rescue me from the waters and row me back to shore, and have me spend the night at his house.

"No one was with you," she said.

No one was with me. Those five simple words sent a chill up my spine.

"Peter found you in the water when he went outside this morning," she continued. "He was worried you were dead."

"But why did he bring me here?" I asked.

"He's a proper lad. He thought having you wake up in a house where a lady is present would be best."

She may have been telling the truth. That didn't make me feel any more at ease, though.

"What happened to you?" she asked me.

That was a very good question. What _had_ happened to me?

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

"Were you on a ship? Was it sank by pirates? It's obvious that you were on a shipwreck. You were at sea, after all, love."

She was obviously curious at what could have happened to me. The woman was conjuring every possibility what could have happened that landed me in the water. All I knew is that I was drunk, ridiculously drunk, and with a man I had known for six or seven hours.

I had a feeling that was the wrong thing to say, though.

"I don't know," I repeated.

"Oh, dear..." she said. She looked instantly worried. "You must have lost your memory during your fall in the water."

This woman thought I had amnesia? No, I remembered everything about last night – as much as I could remember, at least, in my drunken state. I was with Adam. I had fallen into the water.

Nothing made sense still, though.

"Do you remember your name?" she asked.

"Christine," I said.

"Good," she said, nodding, appearing a bit relieved. "You do remember your last name, right?"

"Werden."

"Good," she said, looking more relieved. She must have been glad that she wasn't with a completely inept seventeen-year-old. "I'm Mrs. Ashford."

I didn't say that it was nice to meet her. It wasn't. I was still confused as hell.

"Can you tell me the year, love?" she asked me.

This did not seem like a twenty-first century house. I felt ridiculous for saying my answer, but what other year could it be?

"2008," I said.

The relief in Mrs. Ashford's face was no longer there. It was replaced with nothing but motherly concern.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, dearie, it's not." She then said to herself, "Lost your memory, you did."

I almost thought that she was joking. Who would play that sick of a joke for that long, and to the very last detail: The room, the dress, everything?

"It's 1754."

She had to be lying. I wouldn't let myself believe her.

I got up and realized that everything hurt – my feet from my heels that were still on, my head from the alcohol...

Mrs. Ashford touched my arm and tried to convince me to sit down. "Miss Werden, you really shouldn't stand up so fast. You need to rest."

I jerked my arm back, biting my tongue at all the things that I could have said. I quickly went to the window. I seemed to be in the heart of town. Shops were being open, and children were running around, chasing each other, screaming excitedly. A wild chicken fluttered about.

The cobbler's shop was a few stores down. The sign above it had a shoe on it, and writing that I couldn't read below it. The shop next to ours was called Brown's Blacksmith. I vaguely noticed a brown-haired, curly-haired figure that emerged from the shop. All I could notice that this was _nothing_ like Kingston. This was nothing like 2008.

All of a sudden, I knew that Mrs. Ashford wasn't lying. This was 1754.

"Oh, my God," I whispered.

My eyes remained on the town square. I was completely speechless.


	3. Fire and Gasoline

Chapter Three

Fire and Gasoline

**Thank you so much for the reviews!**

* * *

"Are you alright?" I heard Mrs. Ashford ask behind me.

I was still at the window, speechless. Everything being played before me seemed like a dream. I couldn't face the fact that I was awake. I liked the fact that I thought this was a dream.

I kept my eyes focused on the brown-haired man I had seen come out of the blacksmith's shop. I needed to focus on something, anything, to somehow allow myself that this was a dream. Fixating on something drew me away from reality.

"Can you hear me?" she asked.

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if she could see my response. I still couldn't comprehend my epiphany.

Time travel did not exist, though. It was impossible. Yet, as I looked at the square below me, I knew that was the only explanation, logical or not. Their outfits were the sort in textbooks, and the buildings were too antique, even for old, locally owned shops.

"Do you want to lay down, dearie?" she asked.

Mrs. Ashford probably thought that I was losing even more of my memory by just standing, dumbfounded at everything.

"I'm fine," I said, turning to face her.

I was not fine. My temples and eyes were throbbing, my throat was dry, my chest hurt – and, on top of it all, I had never felt so alone or helpless in my life.

"Are you sure, Miss --" Mrs. Ashford began.

"Christine," I interrupted. "And, yes, Mrs. Ashford. I'm fine."

She cast me a dubious glance.

"Really," I reassured her. "I'm just disorientated, is all."

I must have been convincing enough, since started going towards the door.

"If you're alright --" she began.

"I'm fine," I promised.

Mrs. Ashford nodded and tucked a lock of curly, brown hair behind her ear. "I'll let you be. I need to get down to the bakery. I just thought it was wise that I'd use one of my moments to check on you. You can stay in the room, here, if you'd like."

I wondered if her last sentence was an order. With me, in a dress that was unlike anything else that I had seen in the last five minutes, I was sure that it was.

"I will," I said.

Mrs. Ashford gave a forced smile, then exited the room, shutting the door gently behind her.

I stood by the window, facing the room, still trying to comprehend what had happened to me. It didn't add up.

I walked over to the bed and took my heels off. I wondered if I would get a splinter while walking barefoot. I contemplated putting my shoes back on, but decided against it. I'd be back in the hotel in half an hour.

I saw my red clutch on the table next to the bed. I felt elated -- I could call Irene and beg her to keep my parents distracted for twenty minutes. I snatched my clutch and opened it, digging my phone out of it. I slid the phone open to find a black, unlit screen.

My heart sank a little, but I refused to let it sink further. The battery just had too much water.

I opened the back of the phone and took the battery out, shaking the water out of it. I put the battery back in and slid the phone open again, only to find a black screen.

"God damn it!" I said, probably a bit too loudly. I knew that there would be no way for me to contact Irene to tell her that I was out later than I should have been and to make up an excuse for me. I couldn't ask Mrs. Ashford for a phone – she seemed so out of touch with everything, that I wasn't even sure if she knew what one was.

I wouldn't let myself entertain my time travel theory. I knew that it was impossible.

I had nothing else to do but stay here. My parents, I knew, would kill me when I got back to the hotel. I had been grounded before, but the thought of their punishment, for the first time, frightened me.

I looked through my clutch, just to make sure nothing had gotten lost or stolen between the time I left the hotel and the time I woke up. My passport was water damaged, as well as my driver's license. My foundation was cakey -- I didn't bother to look at the lipstick.

_Yep_, I thought. _I'm screwed._

Screwed didn't begin to cover what I was. My parents would find a way to make me pay for sneaking out like this. They would send me back to Brooklyn and not let me leave the house for my entire senior year, except for my job at Starbucks.

I was going to be _dead_ by tonight.

I was helpless. I couldn't get myself out of this situation.

I flopped onto the bed, laying on my back and sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

* * *

The minutes ticked by. I wasn't sure how long I stayed in that room upstairs, my eyes fixated on the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular, yet everything at once. I was thinking of how much trouble I would be in when I went back to the hotel, how to even _get_ back to it, how to explain this to my parents, and how to explain to myself _why_ I felt like I was nowhere near Kingston.

All of these things, though, were so overwhelming, that I focused on simply nothing.

My tangled hair bothered me. I sat up slowly for fear of my head throbbing. My head wasn't pounding like before – now it was a dull annoyance.

I stood up and went to the vanity and found a large, silver brush on table, with small flowers engraved into the back. I ran my fingers over it, leaving my fingerprints behind. It was nothing short of beautiful. It was so polished that I could see my reflection clearly. Even ones like this in antique stores were somehow stained or dirtied. This one seemed nearly flawless.

I tried to run the comb through my hair, but trying to do so hurt too much. Water filled my eyes. I'd work on the knot on top of my head that was my hair tonight.

I wished I had a pony tail holder with me. Tying my hair back would make me slightly more happy.

I saw a small, metal box on the vanity. I opened it to see bobby pins in there. I knew it was possible to make a bun out of bobby pins.

I twisted my hair into a bun, and slid the bobby pins into my hair, holding it in place. It was a loose bun, yes, but better than before.

I didn't know what to do next. Going downstairs and asking Mrs. Ashford for a phone or money for a cab didn't seem like the thing that I should do. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more that my ridiculous time travel theory, it seemed to make more sense.

I wouldn't allow myself to think about it any more than that, though. It didn't make _that_ much sense. I opted for the phone/money option.

I walked back to the edge of the bed and put my shoes on, the same ache in my feet coming back as soon as I took the first step.

I walked out of my room and saw that to my left were some wooden stairs leading down. I went down them, not putting my hand on the thick railing for fear of a splinter.

I came to the foot of the stairs and came to a door. I turned the door knob and saw that there seemed to be a living room. There was a light blue cushioned chair, and a matching love seat. The walls were a dirtied white.

I went through the living room and stopped at the doorway into the kitchen. Mrs Ashford's dress was now dusted with flour; most of it on the skirt of her dress. The man that I had seen out of my window earlier, the one with the brown, curly hair, was talking to Mrs. Ashford. From a distance, I could tell that he was around twenty. He was handsome in an innocent, chivalrous way

"I think that her ship was sunk by pirates," Mrs. Ashford said. It was clear that she was talking about me to this man. "Poor girl can't remember a thing. Must've lost her memory. Hardly says a thing, she does. I'm beginning to wonder if she doesn't talk because..."

Mrs. Ashford was _gossiping_ about me to someone? She thought that I was on a shipwreck and – what? That I was raped, or that something God-awful happened to me on the supposed ship that I was on?

"You don't think that the pirates violated her, do you?" the man asked.

Mrs. Ashford, most likely seeing me out of the corner of her eye, turned to look at me. She seemed surprised -- I knew that I wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Christine," she said, flustered. "I thought you were upstairs."

The man looked at me, shocked. He quickly diverted his eyes and looked at Mrs. Ashford, trying to pretend that I wasn't in the room. I was hurt – this man completely ignored me.

"I was," I said, looking at the man. His eyes still remained on Mrs. Ashford. "I just wanted to see if --"

Now was not the time to ask for money, I reminded myself, as I remembered that Mrs. Ashford and this man were under the impression that I was on a shipwreck. I could ask for money for a voyage home, or I could ask for directions to Kingston – she still thought that I had lost my memory, too.

I thought that it was best to keep quiet, though.

"Never mind," I dismissed. "I forgot what I was going to say."

Having "memory loss" came in handy.

A sympathetic look swept over Mrs. Ashford's face. "Oh, dear... come here, love."

I obediently walked to Mrs. Ashford. She pulled me into a sympathetic embrace. I wasn't quite sure what to say. I patted her back in response a few times awkwardly.

"You poor thing," she murmured to me. "You're lost, you have no idea where you are, you're frightened to death..."

She didn't know how close to the truth that she was.

I pulled away and looked her in the eyes. "That's so nice of you to worry, Mrs. Ashford, but, really, I'm fine."

"I don't think that you are, quite yet, Christine," she said. "You don't even remember that your dress was torn! Good gracious, look at how you're exposing yourself!"

I looked down at my legs. All it revealed were my calves. The dress wasn't even torn, I knew that I had bought it hemmed at the knees.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Ashford, my first thought today was not that my dress was ripped at the knees."

I was straining myself by being polite to her. Our personalities blended together as well as fire and gasoline.

"Course, dear," she dismissed.

I was the gasoline, and Mrs. Ashford was the fire. The fire was spreading more quickly on the gasoline, rising, becoming more intense.

"Christine, this is Will Turner," Mrs. Ashford said, directing me to the man.

I met the man's – Will's – brown eyes and forced a smile to the stranger. He smiled back genuinely. I wouldn't have been surprised if his first impression of me was that I wasn't a warm person. I didn't feel like being warm right now.

"Hey," I said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss..." Will said.

"Werden," Mrs. Ashford piped up, before I could insist that he call me Christine.

"Werden," Will repeated, still looking me in the eye.

Childlikeness flickered into his eyes. He reminded me of a child that was so intrigued by something, but didn't dare do a thing in fear of being punished.

"Dear, you really should be going upstairs," Mrs. Ashford said to me.

I broke away from Will's curious gaze that was beginning to intrigue me – what was he thinking? -- and turned to Mrs. Ashford. I began to feel the fire rising even more between us. Who was she to dismiss me from the room like a child?

"I feel fine," I said simply, holding my ground.

"No, dear," she said, taking my shoulder and walking me towards the living room, casting a glance back at Will. Once we were alone in the living room, she said, "I really think that you should go back upstairs."

I could very well have walked out the front door that minute and never returned. I knew that I had an option to put up with Mrs. Ashford.

I had nowhere to go, though. I was beginning to think that I had gone insane, since my time travel theory made more and more sense as the day had gone on. Going back to my family seemed less and less of a possibility.

A lump constricted my throat at just the thought of that. It didn't help that Mrs. Ashford was already testing my mental stability, intentionally or not.

For the second time that day, her statement was an order.

I took half a step back and locked her gaze with mine. I was pissed – more pissed than I had been in quite a while.

"You're right," I complied, hiding my bitterness. "I should go back upstairs."

I didn't bother looking back at the brewing fire -- I could feel it's heat.


	4. Last Night

Chapter Four

Last Night

**Sorry for the delay! I came down with food poisoning, and I didn't feel like doing anything at all, much less writing.**

**I promise that, starting next chapter, there will be much more of our favorite blacksmith!**

**I also apologize for the shortness of the chapter. It's a filler one to lead to an... interesting... next chapter!**

**Thank you for the reviews, and enjoy!**

* * *

I spent the rest of the day upstairs. I managed to get my hair untangled, though it took too much effort, I thought. My hair was too tangled for even a good comb to get through, much less a brush. Through many curses and thoughts about breaking the mirror I was sitting at with the brush, I accomplished my task and made my hair somewhat more manageable. The tangles were out, but my hair was still a mess. I pinned my dark hair back

I spent the rest of the day in the confines of the yellow room. I laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, at times; other times, I sat by the window and thought. I thought about how I had managed to ruin my family's vacation – not a surprise.

As the hours ticked by, I became more restless and bored. I began to not care who it was that I talked with – it could have been Mrs. Ashford, even!

The sun lowered in the sky, edging closer to the horizon. It felt like an eternity had gone by since I arrived here – wherever _here_ was. I began to force myself to believe my time travel theory. It was the only one that now made sense, though the very thought of believing it made me sick to my stomach.

I saw the man who gave me the odd look today in the bakery – Will – come out of the blacksmith's shop, I couldn't help but have my gaze focused on him. Why had he given me such an odd look? I knew that it wasn't a look of desire. The more time I had to think about That Look, I came to realize that Will was more bewildered than anything.

Why, though?

Just as I was going to continue my thoughts, I heard knocking on the door. I knew it was Mrs. Ashford.

On second thought, her company didn't seem as welcome.

"Yeah?" I asked, craning my neck around to see her walk in.

The door opened, and in came Mrs. Ashford. She looked no more tired than she had this morning. Either she had an endless supply of energy, or she was perpetually tired and never showed.

She closed the door behind her and looked straight at me. She said nothing. Mrs. Ashford simply leaned against the door, her hands still on the doorknob. It almost looked like she thought I would try to escape, and she was blocking my exit.

"What were you thinking?" she asked after a long silence. She didn't sound angry, she stated it as more of a casual question.

"What?" I asked. I didn't understand – what did I do?

Her brown eyes were darts, and I was the dart board. Her gaze turned into a stare, which became more intense.

"I lied for you," she said.

"I know."

What part did she lie about, though? Was it my "amnesia", or my clothing?

"I'll just pretend that your memory loss made you forget how to dress like a lady, and not like a wench at an inn," she said nonchalantly.

A wench at an inn? I looked like a _prostitute_ to her?!

"What?" I demanded.

She sighed, exasperated. "Good Heavens, Christine!"

Mrs. Ashford began walking towards me, but then sat down on the edge of my bed. I felt like a child: me against the wall, and her on the bed.

"William must question what line of work you're in! Do you know what that could do to my business if he told just _one_ person? What if he slipped out that there's a girl in Mrs. Ashford's Bakery that's dressed like a whore? This place would be tainted forever!"

I tried to see where Mrs. Ashford was coming from, but I really couldn't. She was overreacting. It was one dress that I wore! It was at my _knees_!

"Mrs. Ashford, with the day that I've had, do you think that my first concern is how short my dress is?" I questioned.

I could feel myself boiling, an explosion about to erupt inside of me. I hardly cared, though.

"I wake up _here_, I try to figure out how I got _here_, I wonder if you're not some serial killer --"

"A killer?!" she interrupted, her voice high with insult.

"What the hell do you think that I would have thought?!" I said.

Much to my dismay, I found a lump forming in my throat, but I refused to cry. I blinked back the tears and swallowed tightly. I kept my sharp gaze on Mrs. Ashford, who looked like she was slapped in the face. I felt satisfied, but wouldn't dare let it show.

I knew that I could play the innocent, lost girl card if I wanted right then with little effort. That would be the wisest one. Maybe Mrs. Ashford would cut me some slack, then.

Or, I could play the Christine card – the brutally honest one that would cause her to call me a whore and kick me onto the streets.

I opted for the first one.

"You don't _know_ what I've been through today," I said, letting my voice waver slightly.

I knew that was all I needed to say as I saw Mrs. Ashford's expression soften slightly. She drew her full lips into a thin line.

"Do you have a place to stay?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No. No family."

She looked down at the floor and pondered for a few moments. "How are you planning on keeping a roof over your head?"

I shrugged, probably unladylike in her eyes. I hardly cared, though.

"I don't know," I said.

The motherly side of her took over now, although it was hard to see under the stony facade she had on.

"I'll make you a deal," she said. "I'll let you stay here if you help me in my bakery."

I had no choice but to accept her offer, despite the fact that she grated on my nerves. I had nowhere else to go, and here was better than nowhere at all.

"Sure," I said.

I knew I was signing myself away to the job from hell once I said that. It wasn't as if things could have gotten much worse, though. Agreeing to work for Mrs. Ashford _may_ have been better than the alternative.

"Wonderful," she smiled, thought I couldn't tell if it was a fake smile or not. "I'll be sure to wake you up bright and early."

Mrs. Ashford stood up. She was planning on ending our conversation already? How early was she going to wake me up?!

She went over to what appeared to be a large chest of drawers. Mrs. Ashford pulled out a white nightgown and set it on my bed.

"One more question, love," she said. "Where are you from?"

My mouth became dry at the very question. It was clear I was from nowhere that she would recognize. I could easily say America, but the colonies were still under British rule, and I was sure that the colonies accents were still not their own.

"I really don't know," I said.

I wasn't sure if she believed me, amnesia excuse or not. I wouldn't have believed me.

Mrs. Ashford simply looked at me before saying, "Goodnight, Christine."

I hated that look she gave me. It read nothing. I wondered what she was thinking.

"Goodnight," I replied.

She turned her back on me and walked out of the room, gently shutting the door behind her. I drew the curtains, changed out of my red dress, and changed into the nightgown, tying the drawstring at the top. I hated how loose it was around me. It seemed like it would fall off at at any moment.

I held the red dress in my hand. Just twenty-four hours ago, it was a simple dress, no different than all the other ones out there. Now, it was one to prove that everything that happened today wasn't a dream, or that I really wasn't losing my mind.

The dress was now the only thing of my former life. It reminded me of Adam, Irene, and my family.

I walked over to the drawers and set it in the bottom one under a few eighteenth-century dresses, not unlike the one that Mrs. Ashford was wearing today.

I went to the vanity and pulled the bobby pins out of my hair and set them back in the tin. My hair was still a mess, but nowhere near the mess it had been this morning. Mrs. Ashford did have a point -- I most likely did look like a woman of the night when I saw Will, with disheveled appearance.

Out of boredom, I crawled into bed, letting the thick covers form a cocoon around me, despite the heat. For the first time, I thought about the consequences of what happened last night. Adam would most likely be committed of a crime he did not commit (murder and kidnapping were the first things that came to mind), and Irene would have to live with guilt of letting me go out for the rest of her life. She would probably wonder each day what happened to me.

Foolishly, I wondered that they would hear me if I screamed loud enough. I needed to let them know that I was alright, but that I was in a very odd place, that I was very scared, and that I didn't mean to make them worry. I needed to let them know that I was sorry.

The guilt suddenly flooded me, just like the water did last night. Like last night, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Like last night, I felt completely helpless.


	5. Rising

Chapter Five

Rising

**I'm sorry for the late update! School has been taking all my time. It's nearly done, though, and summer is just around the corner!**

**Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

_Knock, knock._

The room was dark. I was in bed, wondering whether what I had heard was reality, or a hallucination in my groggy state.

Two knocks came from the darkness again.

Who was waking me up? Had Irene locked herself out last night? Did our parents need something?

I sat up in bed and looking down to my left, seeing if my sister was laying next to me. She wasn't. I bit my lip in order to contain my laughter. Only my sister could lock herself out.

I decided to play the role of the bratty younger sibling and enjoy her misery for just a few more minutes. I looked outside to see that it was still dark out. The curtains danced in the wind, letting me see the moonlight illuminating the town below. The cobbler's and blacksmith's shop were in clearly lit.

The blacksmith's shop. Some part of what I was experiencing had to have been a dream. Irene and a blacksmith's shop didn't mix.

Two more knocks came from the darkness.

"Christine!" a sharp voice from the darkness said.

That voice.

That voice didn't belong to my mother, Irene, nor Adam. I knew exactly who it belonged to.

I began to snap out of my grogginess. I realized that I was no longer in Kingston. The window didn't look over the parking lot, but an old, Godforsaken town. The voice wasn't Irene begging to be let back in the room.

I was still in Port Royal.

"Christine, wake up!" the same sharp voice said.

I sighed and got out of bed. I looked down to see that I was still in the nightgown that I thought would slink off my shoulders at any moment.

"Just wait!" I told Mrs. Ashford.

The pit in my stomach grew as the grogginess was completely wiped away. I was as metaphorically stranded as last night.

I began to feel nauseous. I put a hand on my stomach in a weak attempt to calm it. My hand met something metal.

My piercing.

No doubt Mrs. Ashford would be dressing me in one of her dresses – maybe a corset, even. I didn't want to risk any pain that could be avoided.

"Chris--"

"Just – hang on!" I told her.

I hitched up my nightgown and took my piercing out. I tried to think of a place to hide it. My clutch would do, but I couldn't see in the dark.

I walked blindly over to my bed and stubbed my toe against it in the process. I had to bite my lip in order not to curse loudly.

"God damn it!" I allowed myself to say to myself, continuing my journey to the nightstand. I felt for the nightstand in the darkness, then the silkiness of my clutch. I opened it, dropped the piercing in, and snapped it shut, setting it back on the nightstand.

"Come in," I said to Mrs. Ashford.

The door opened, a candle leading the way. It illuminated her face – in that natural of light, she looked nearly angelic, belonging in a painting, or a high-class photo spread in a magazine. It almost made me believe that she was a decent person.

"I've been at your door for Lord only knows how long," Mrs. Ashford said, setting the candle on the vanity. It gave some light to the room – a glow, at best. "I would've thought you never worked a day in your life, the way you sleep."

"I can't remember the last time I woke up before the crack of dawn, much less when I can still see the moon," I said.

She gave me a peculiar look. I wondered if it was normal to get up this early to begin baking.

I hated that look of Mrs. Ashford's. I hated every look of hers.

"It was a late night," I added, trying to wipe that look off her face.

She sighed and turned away, going for what appeared to be the dresser – her way of dismissing the situation.

"Let's get you dressed," she said, mostly to herself.

She looked through the clothes and picked up a light blue dress in one of the drawers, then picked out a few long undergarments – the only one I recognized was the petticoat. What was the one on the top, the flat, boned, lace garment?

_Oh, dear God_, I thought, cringing internally.

I was glad that I had bothered to take out my piercing, though I was sure just a little more of pain wouldn't have made a difference.

I stood awkwardly as she finished pulling out the undergarments. She set them on the bed.

"Let's get you dressed," she said.

I walked over to her. The nausea wasn't subsiding.

The corset was a light pink color, I could see, as she slipped it around me. Confused, I fumbled to put my arms through the sleeves of the corset. It reminded me of a tank top. Maybe if I imagined it was one, it wouldn't be as bad.

Hopeful thoughts went out the window the instant the laces were tightened. When she was started at the bottom, it reminded me of trying on a pair of jeans that were too tight – it was uncomfortable, and, already, I could feel the difference in my ability to breathe.

I gasped in pain as she tightened the upper part of the corset – a mistake. The sharp intake of air hurt my ribs even more while they were being forced together.

"Good God, Mrs. Ashford, you could loosen up a little!" I pleaded. "I'm a newbie!"

"You've never worn a corset before?" she questioned.

The laces became tighter. I wasn't sure what I would pass out from first – the pain or the lack of oxygen.

"No, and I'm pretty sure that it's obvious!" I said.

"Believe me, dearie," Mrs. Ashford said, tying the laces. "It is."

"You do wonders to the self esteem."

Mrs. Ashford picked an undergarment from the bed and handed it to me. It looked like a chemise. I did nothing but stare at it, dumbfounded in a way. Was I supposed to put it on?

"Christine, what sort of a household did you grow up in? You seem so misplaced that I swear you've raised yourself."

I bit my lip – only something that I did when I was nervous or formulating a lie.

"An unconventional one," I said.

* * *

After half an hour in the kitchen making dough, my ribs began to ache. After an hour, I thought that I would cry from the pain.

After two hours, I realized this would be a battle of endurance. I would see how long I could endure the pain in the bone-crushing contraption.

I hated Mrs. Ashford now more than ever. I was sure that she did it to spite me in some way. Maybe she liked seeing me in pain. I wouldn't have put it past her. After just one day, we were already on bad terms.

The one benefit of a corset, though, was the hourglass figure that I was given. My waist was tiny, and my chest was accentuated better than any push-up bra could ever do. The one draw-back was the grueling, agonizing pain that came with it.

Mrs. Ashford taught me how to bake bread from scratch. I began to hate the smell of yeast several hours into the baking, although I was surprised I could smell anything, considering I could hardly breathe. Mrs. Ashford did the things that required detail, such as the pastries. I was grateful that I was given the easier task.

The morning drudged on. It soon became blisteringly hot in the bakery. I wasn't sure if it was because of the summer heat of Jamaica, the fires behind me, or a combination of the two. I constantly had to wipe the sweat away from my forehead. Strands of hair were sticking to my forehead, and I was sure flour was on there somewhere. It wouldn't surprise me if Mrs. Ashford didn't notice -- I was as pale as it.

When a customer came in, Mrs. Ashford had me assist them. I was surprised that she didn't do it and kept me tending to the bread. With her imagination and assumed gossiping skills, I was sure that half of Port Royal had heard about the arrival of the new, mysterious whore in Mrs. Ashford's Bakery and were curious as to what, exactly, she looked like.

Much to my relief, though, I found that no customers gave me an odd look, like I had expected. The normality of the situation made me almost think that I blended in in this bizarre place.

Once the bakery was cleared momentarily in the early afternoon, Mrs. Ashford handed me a loaf of bread baked this morning, wrapped in a white cloth.

"Take this next door to Brown's Blacksmith," she ordered. "I want you to give this to Mr. Turner. The boy works too hard, a nice loaf of bread will do him good."

Will – the man I met yesterday and who, whenever I looked out my window, was always there? The proper pretty-boy?

"The one that gave me that look yesterday?" I said, somewhat appalled that she was going to make me run this errand of hers.

"Yes, when you were dressed like a whore," she said.

I sighed and looked at the half-risen dough. Mrs. Ashford began looking for a pan, I thought, making excess noise on purpose.

"Mrs. Ashford, I'm a little busy right now," I said.

She ignored me, searching loudly for what I supposed was a bread pan. I waited a few moments before giving up. Bread loaf in hand, I stormed out of the bakery, slamming the door behind me. I was fuming. I could feel my jaw tensing, and I knew I was gripping the bread that was for Will – the man that gave me The Look – between my hands.

I sighed in frustration, resisting my temptation to rip the bread. My temptation was soon forgotten by the town surrounding me. I simply looked at it for a few seconds. The whole thing seemed so surreal: it seemed, yet again, out of a textbook or painting.

I hated it.

The last time I was outside was the night I got drunk with Adam. That was the night I fell into the water and, somehow, landed here.

I was determined to still get home. I knew that someway, I would. This was just a holding place for me.

I walked to Brown's Blacksmith. I could feel my heart beating quicker inside my chest, all because of the dread and anxiety of facing _that_ _man_ again.

I knocked on the door. I waited.

A few moments passed before the door opened. Will was sweating. I could see a fire in the corner in the fireplace of the shop. It reminded me of what I had waiting when I went back to the bakery. Another layer of dread coated me.

"May I help you?" he asked gently.

_Ever the gentleman_, I thought, wondering how someone could be that pleasant when they were working that hard in a hot, stuffy room.

I simply looked at him for a few moments. I felt something between us -- I wasn't sure what it was. I prayed to God that it wasn't chemistry. I prayed even harder that it wasn't clear to a passerby that we had said chemistry.

"Mrs. Ashford wanted me to give this to you," I said, handing him the loaf of bread.

Will stared at me for a few moments. I was sure he was shocked I was in "decent" clothes and wondering why I was dressed the way I was yesterday.

Ever the gentleman, though, he didn't say a word.

I broke his gaze and looked to the ground. It was dark brown dirt. I felt like kicking it, but I no longer felt angry. I wondered if I was frustrated at the awkward situation that Mrs. Ashford knew all too well this would land Will and I in. For sanity's sake, I decided that, yes, it was.


	6. Being a Gentleman

Chapter Six

Being a Gentleman

* * *

The next morning was much like the one before. Mrs. Ashford woke me up before the sun came up, I got dressed, and I worked in the bakery. The fire baking the bread behind me seemed to blister my back. The heat became nearly unbearable at points. Heat, with thick clothes and a fire, did not mix.

The sun rose higher in the sky. The day seemed to simply lag on. Hours blended together. The repetitive mixing and kneading of the dough, as well as the baking of it, seemed to make time blend in a sick way.

I wondered how Mrs. Ashford did it. I felt like I had wasted two days of my life baking like this – she must have felt she wasted years doing this.

I heard Mrs. Ashford saying something to me about leaving the bakery for a minute. I was too preoccupied thinking about how to get out of Port Royal, which was becoming my version of Hell. Nothing made sense here. I felt as in place as a lone green apple mixed with red apples.

After Mrs. Ashford left, I took my frustration on the dough I was kneading. I threw a handful flour at it and picked the dough up, throwing it back down on the counter.

"Damn it!" I said, hitting it, feeling a lump in my throat.

I refused to cry. I simply rested the heels of my hands on the dough, leaning against the counter, my eyes down towards the dough. I still felt like I was in a bizarre dream.

The door opened, and in came Mrs. Ashford and That Man again – Will. The lump grew tighter in frustration. Mrs Ashford invited _him_.

Will gave me a look again. I couldn't quite read what it was, but it didn't look like bewilderment. It was possible that he saw how distressed I looked. With his reactions, I would have thought he had never seen a woman like me in his life.

"Great," I said to Will. "It's you."

"It is him," Mrs. Ashford said, closing the door behind her and Will. She then walked behind the counter to me. "I thought Mr. Turner needed a few minutes' break--"

"I know," I said, thinking what she was about to say. "A working man needs a break," I muttered to myself. "A woman in a kitchen baking since the ungodly hour of 4:30 doesn't deserve one?"

"That woman should be glad that she's even been given a roof over her head," Mrs. Ashford chided, walking behind me.

I turned my head to see that she didn't look at me. She didn't bother to help Will, either. She was going to make that my job.

I hated her.

I sighed and wiped my hands on my dress and went to Will.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Just bread is fine," he said.

I went to cut two slices of bread, put them on a plate, then gave it to him.

Our eyes met. I felt something even stranger between us, stranger than yesterday. It was as noticeable as a lightening bolt.

I began to wonder if I was imagining it, this _thing_ between us. I could very well be losing my mind. I could be taking his peculiar looks as hidden flirtations.

I refused to believe that. I liked the theory where I was losing my mind. It was the only one that made sense.

"Sit," I said, casting a glance at Mrs. Ashford, who was busy. She either chose not to listen, or wasn't. "It's good for you to get out for a while."

Will sat at the small, wooden table at the window with two chairs. He sat at one chair, and I sat on the one across from him. Will began to have his lunch.

Back in Brooklyn, my lunches weren't unlike his: small and not very filling. A school lunch usually was a bag of chips – my best friend was a strict vegan, and, out of respect, I ignored dairy and meat when I was around her. At home, I usually grazed. I hated the thought of having a set schedule with things. I heard it was healthier to graze rather than to have three meals at set times, anyway.

Will took a bite of the bread. He was still alive.

"Is it fine?" I asked, a smirk playing at my lips.

"It is," he said. "It's delicious."

I chuckled. "Thanks."

I glanced over at Mrs. Ashford. She was taking some bread out of a pan, though I was sure she was eavesdropping.

"I beg your pardon, Miss..." Will began.

"Christine," I reminded.

"Werden," Mrs. Ashford said.

It was the small, minute comments that made me hate Mrs. Ashford.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Werden," Will began, "but I can't place your accent."

I swallowed. I was beginning to hate that question. I wondered if it was too late to fake a British accent for everyone but Mrs. Ashford and Will.

"Quite the accent, I know," I laughed. I prayed that my laugh didn't sound as nervous as I felt.

When he realized that I never answered his question, he asked, "But... where are you from?"

I tried my hardest not to look nervous. I looked him in the eye while the silence between us grew painful. The noise that Mrs. Ashford was making seemed a million miles away.

I didn't understand why I was so afraid of that question. I knew why I should have been -- I couldn't give away where I was from. With what I knew about Mrs. Ashford and Will, they would think that I'd gone insane!

"Not from around here," I replied.

Will seemed to dismiss the situation, although I was sure that he was curious as to where Miss Werden, the one with the mysterious accent, was from.

I would kill to know all the questions that were obviously formulating in his mind. His brown eyes were inquisitive, but he obviously holding them all back, all for being a gentleman.

"Mrs. Ashford," Will said, "this must be the kindest thing you've ever done, taking Miss Werden in."

_It's the only kind thing you've ever done_, I thought, looking at her harshly.

Her brown-eyed gaze met mine, indifferent to sharp expression. I wonder if she noticed, but no longer cared, like a mother too exhausted to discipline her child.

She nodded once, a curt smile on her face. "It's a pleasure having you here, Christine."

A new layer of rage in me was revealed. The previous layers of anger were now dusted away – this was the very core of my anger.

Everything that had been building inside me since I first arrived in Port Royal two days ago was erupting. Mrs. Ashford proved to be the boss/landlady from hell; I managed to make myself hate Will, the polite pretty-boy; worst yet, I was stuck _here_.

I felt like the world was spinning. My chest became tight. I was so angry – so upset – that I felt incapable of crying, even. I was so angry that I wasn't sure if I could really understand how angry I was. Something was snapping inside me, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.

I stood up and walked swiftly towards the door leaving the bakery, slamming it behind me. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I hardly realized that I was outside and had left the bakery. It didn't matter. I needed to get out of there.

I couldn't go back to the bakery. I didn't care if I lived on the streets, I was not going back to Mrs. Ashford.

Standing in the blistering sun in the streets of Port Royal, watching the typical routine of a day here, I realized that I was officially homeless.

* * *

By 2:00, I started getting sunburned on my arms, face, and neck. By 5:00, they hurt so bad that I thought my skin was about to start peeling off. By 7:30, I wondered if going back to Mrs. Ashford's Bakery was worth it.

The heat was unbearable in my countless layers. I tried to think of how many I put on in my groggy state this morning. Nothing came to me.

Night fell. I was still wandering aimlessly along the streets of Port Royal. If I wanted to go back to Mrs. Ashford's, I would need to go now in order to get at least a few hours of sleep.

I was _not_ going back.

The more I thought about it, I had nowhere else to go. I knew that I told myself that living on the streets was better than living with Mrs. Ashford – and it was – but both were hardly appealing. With Mrs. Ashford, I, at least, had a roof over my head and food.

I wanted to go back home. When would the God-awful nightmare end? The whole town was bizarre. I didn't think it was possible that people functioned like this.

After dark, I was the only one on the street. The air was still as humid as ever, though it had an eeriness to it – just because it was dark, I told myself.

I hated the silence. It only let me relive what happened at the bakery today, over and over. I felt like I was losing my mind. Maybe I had. Maybe I had finally snapped, after all the stress and shock of being _here_, in Port Royal.

Footsteps behind me snapped me out of musing. I gasped out of surprise and looked behind me to see who it was several stores away. The silhouette reminded me of Will's: the curly hair, the tall build...

To my dread, I found it was him.

"Let me guess," I said, turning around and stopping. "Mrs. Ashford told you to look for me because she was concerned for my wellbeing."

_The lying bitch_, I added silently.

I hated how I could never predict Mrs. Ashford. One minute, she was motherly, and the next, she would be yelling at me for whatever I did wrong. I hated the woman.

"No, actually," he said, walking towards me. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Mrs. Ashford came to me after she closed her bakery and said that you hadn't come back yet, and she wondered if perhaps I'd seen you. I said that I hadn't, and --"

"You made it your duty to look for me," I finished for him, I smirk tugging at my lips. "That's very noble of you, Will, but, as you can see, I'm just fine. I just needed to get out of the bakery. Hell, maybe I won't even go back."

Will caught up with me, and we began to walk together. I noticed he was about half a foot taller than me.

"Why?" he asked. "She's such a wonderful woman."

Mrs. Ashford, a wonderful woman? That made as much sense as Christine Werden: Saint.

"Oh, God," I said, half-chuckling. "You're such a naïf. Mrs. Ashford is not a 'wonderful woman'. She's a bitch."

I could swear that Will turned ashen at the very word. He looked like he had the wind knocked out of him.

"Wh-Why?" he said.

"Why?" I repeated. "She just _is_! She called me a whore and I can't seem to do anything right when I'm around her."

Will seemed to realize why I used my word of choice, and nodded. "That's – That was a wrong thing to say on her behalf."

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "I get it daily."

"She's never like that, though," Will said. "This is shocking. She's such a kind woman."

"To you," I said. "She could just be a cougar, or something."

"A cougar?" he repeated, dumbfounded.

I wondered if I should tell him what a cougar is. Will was too naïve, though, and learning what a cougar is might send him into physical shock.

"Nothing," I said, trying to hide the chuckle creeping up.

I wondered why Will was here. Why would he want to look for me? Today was the first time we had really talked.

The thought of him having feelings for me seemed impossible. We've only seen each other for five minutes. Falling in love that quickly was impossible!

"You will go back, won't you?" he asked me.

_No_, I thought.

"I don't want to," I said. "There's no point going back."

"Something could happen to you," Will said. "A man could violate you... kidnap you, kill you, even."

Why did something like that sound more appealing than being with Mrs. Ashford, baking, a hot fire behind me?

"We had pirates attack the town six months ago," he said. "It was so sudden. It was a night not unlike tonight."

Childish intrigue grew inside me, even though the simple word "pirate" seemed more like fantasy than reality..

"Oh?" I asked.

"The town itself wasn't completely ruined – not as badly as it could have been."

That was all he said about the pirate attack. I could swear there was more that he wasn't telling me.

"You really should go back," he said, changing the subject.

It was clear that Will would carry me back to Mrs. Ashford's kicking and screaming, if he had to.

"And you won't just take my word for it if I tell you that I'm perfectly capable of going back myself?" I asked.

"Not a chance. Something could happen to you along the way."

I laughed – not at him, but at his tone. He was completely serious and I found it hilarious.

I realized that I probably sounded awful laughing at him. I sobered.

"You're so sweet to care," I said, smiling. "We've known each other for three days and you search for God knows how long for me."

Will's expression was still serious as he kept his gaze on me. "I would just hate for something to happen to you."

To my surprise, we were already at Mrs. Ashford's Bakery. I was shocked that we were already here -- I hadn't even planned on going here. Will must have made sure I made my way here.

The bakery was dark. I was sure Mrs. Ashford had gone to bed -- another sign she couldn't care less about my wellbeing.

"Please don't leave Mrs. Ashford again," Will said, standing at the entrance with me. "I'd rather not look for you in the dark again."

Even in the darkness of night, I could see that Will's brown eyes were sincere and caring. I was touched that he looked for me and cared, even though I knew I would be fine on my own.

I was now on the fence with my feelings towards Will – should I pretend that we never had this conversation, or could I start a friendship with the only person in the town that seemed to care about me.

Grudgingly, I nodded my reply to him, although I wasn't promising anything.

"Fine," I said.

He smiled, satisfied. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Werden."

Miss Werden. Would I always be that to Mr. Turner?

"Night," I replied.

In I went to the dark, uninviting bakery, wondering, why I even agreed to Will's petty promise.


	7. Rejection

Chapter Seven

Rejection

**Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

The next morning, Mrs. Ashford said nothing to me about me storming out the day before. For once, I was grateful for her bitterness. I didn't feel like talking to her anymore than I ever did.

In fact, as the days went by, Mrs. Ashford hardly talked with me. She would tell me what I needed to do in the kitchen, but, outside of work, we never spoke. I thought that my prayers had been answered.

Or had I taken fate into my own hands? If I could make Mrs. Ashford ignore me, anything was possible.

Naively, I wondered if it was possible to return home. It had been nearly two weeks since I came to Port Royal. My family would be back in Brooklyn now, and I was sure Adam was in jail,waiting a trial for something that I did.

I tried not to think of Adam, but when I did, it felt like the weight of the world was on my back. I felt so guilty at the thought of him sitting in a jail cell for a stupid, drunken decision I made. I couldn't help but wonder how long he would be in jail for me.

The only time that I thought about that was in the bakery. It distracted me from the hell that was Mrs. Ashford's Bakery – the heat, Mrs. Ashford in my ear, the customers...

Ironically, only one daily customer could divert me from those thoughts.

Seeing Will began to mae my breath run short and sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I hated it. I didn't know why I had developed a crush for him. I had talked to him once and seen him every day for five minutes! Besides, he was hardly my type.

I knew I couldn't develop feelings for him. I was going to find a way to return home. I had to act like the defensive girl I was when I first arrived in Port Royal. It sounded easy enough, but forcing yourself to be someone else around the person that made you get butterflies in your stomach was no easy task.

Each day, I would act like the old Christine. I tried to look bored whenever he came into the bakery, then ask him what he wanted, and casually talk with him at the table by the window while he ate lunch.

It was getting harder each day. I wondered how I had developed this stupid crush for Will Turner – he was everything I wasn't. He was polite, caring, and a complete gentleman in every sense of the word.

This was no longer Mrs. Ashford's cause of why I needed to get out of Port Royal: this was Will's.

* * *

In my eleventh night in Port Royal, I lay awake in my bed, only the thinnest sheet of my bedding on me. Sweat gathered on my forehead. I was exhausted in every sense of the word, but I had to stay awake. I need to get out of Port Royal tonight.

I heard Mrs. Ashford's tired footsteps going toward the back of the bakery, past the parlor. She was getting ready for bed. I had twenty minutes before she fell asleep.

I had been thinking for two weeks of how to get back to Kingston, and the answer was simple. I had to put my red dress on, along with my heels and clutch, and go in the water. I figured that reversing the order of how I came here made as much sense as anything.

I wanted to get up and dress, but I knew Mrs. Ashford was still awake. My heart thudded in my chest out of excitement and anxiety. What if this didn't work? What if this couldn't be reversed, and I couldn't go back to my family?

_It's going to work!_ I made myself think. _If you think it, it'll happen!_

I wanted it to work. I imagined it working, this being the last time I was above Mrs. Ashford's Bakery.

After the twenty minutes was up, I tiptoed to the dresser, pulled out my dress, and changed out of my nightgown. I left the nightgown on the bed, a final "catch me if you can" sort of game. With smug satisfaction, I pictured her seeing that in the morning, speechless and puzzled.

Again, that was my imaginative side thinking that. I knew that she couldn't care less if I left. Even if she was still awake, she probably wouldn't try to stop me.

My red sling back shoes dangled from my fingers, and clutch was gripped in my hand. I left the room for the final time. I felt a sense of pride and liberation as I looked at it one last time. I hated this room.

I closed the door and tiptoed down the stairs, went through the parlor, bakery, then out the front door, closing the front door as quietly as I could.

Once I was out of the bakery, though, I felt giddy. I was out! Even as I looked at Brown's Blacksmith, my smile couldn't be wiped off. I was doing this partly because of _him_. If I was going to try and go back to modern-day Kingston, I had to do it before he found out my feelings for him.

I smiled and started running barefoot down the street to the beach. I was smiling and laughing as I ran past the shops. I hadn't felt this happy or free since I arrived here. I was running – happily, smiling! -- in my dress that defied every moral in this town.

I reached the beach quicker than expected. It was different in the dark. I had seen it once in the daytime, and that was a passing glance on the day I stormed out of Mrs. Ashford's Bakery. I hadn't thought that this would be the place that I left Port Royal until tonight.

The water lapped against the sand, seeping into it. The ocean seemed dark and endless, as I looked onto the horizon. I realized I couldn't find one. The water and sky were, as always, the same color; now ebony, instead of topaz.

I dropped my shoes onto the sand and put them on. Wet grains of sand made it's way into my shoes and between my toes.

I took a deep breath in. Even in my confidence with my plan, there were so many things going through my head: How would I explain my two week disappearance to my parents? What would I say to Adam?

What if this didn't work?

I swallowed, tightening my grip on my clutch as I walked down the sands of the beach and taking my first few steps into the water.

What did I have to do now? I was ankle deep in the water. Did I just think of home? Did I need to say "There's no place like home!" over and over, clicking my heels together? Did I just have to be in the water?

I walked in a few more steps until I was knee-deep. Nothing yet.

I began to panic. Why wasn't this working?!

I felt like an idiot, standing in a dress in the ocean, alone. I wondered how much of one I looked.

"What are you doing?"

I knew that voice behind me. I didn't dare turn around to face it. I felt stupid enough. It was hopeless. I was going to be stuck in 1754 for the rest of my life.

It was the most awful feeling that I could ever imagine, being literally doomed to your worst nightmare.

"Miss Werden, that is you, isn't it?" the voice repeated.

I closed my eyes. I wanted to disappear. This was the stupidest idea I ever had.

Why did I listen to myself?

"Yep," I said, my back to Will Turner. "It's me."

"May I ask what you're doing?" Will asked.

Now came my idiotic answer.

"I'm standing in the water," I replied, feeling stupid even as I said it.

"You're standing in the water?" he asked.

"I'm standing in the water," I confirmed.

There was a pause. I was so embarrassed, that I was sure I was turning as red as my dress.

"May I ask why you're standing in the water?" he asked.

He probably thought I was insane.

"I... thought it would be a good idea," I replied, cringing as I said it.

"Would... would you like to go back home?" he asked gently, as if he was seriously questioning my mental stability.

_I would love to_, I thought, knowing full well that our definitions of home were completely different.

My plan was ruined. I was stuck here – and, of course, I had to be embarrassed.

I turned around and trudged out of the water in my heels. I looked down, not daring to meet his eyes. Once on the beach, I took my shoes off, hooking them around two of my fingers.

"You probably think I'm crazy," I said, making my way back to the bakery with Will.

"I think there's something very peculiar about yourself," he admitted.

"Like I said, you probably think I'm crazy."

"Not necessarily," he said. "Just... unique."

Unique?

"I go around in a knee-length dress, standing in the ocean in the middle of the night, and you think it's unique?" I asked.

"That's because it is," he said. "I can't think of many other people that would do that."

I managed to smile. I wondered why I was even smiling now. I had just been embarrassed and realized that I was stuck _here_.

Maybe I was going crazy.

"Are you following me?" I asked Will.

I looked up at him when I asked that question, just because I was curious to see his reaction. He was flustered. In a weird, sick way, I was satisfied to see that he was.

"No, I'm not following you," Will said.

"I'll just assume it was coincidence, then, that we were at the same beach at the same time in the middle of the night."

He swallowed. I could swear he was turning red.

My heart started pounding in my chest. Seeing him flustered over me made me flustered. I tightened my grip on the clutch.

_Well, are you following me?_ I mentally questioned.

"I live in the second level of Brown's Blacksmith," he began. "I couldn't sleep, I was thinking about things. My bed is by the window. I sat up and I looked out of it, just to distract myself, and saw you."

I couldn't help but wonder if I was what was keeping him up.

"You looked so happy," Will finished.

The high felt so long ago. Will was delaying the rejection I was responsible for.

"And you wanted to see what was making me happy?" I guessed.

"I did," he said. "I dressed, then I followed you."

Honesty was good. At least he hadn't admitted to following me or obsessing over some beauty he thought I retained.

"I wanted to make sure that you weren't running away, either," Will added.

"And you're probably wondering why I decided to go in the water in a dress," I said.

"I'm curious," Will admitted.

I smiled. I decided that was best as a rhetorical statement. I knew he was hiding something with the pirate story he told me, now it was my turn to hide something.

We arrived at Mrs. Ashford's Bakery, both of us standing at the door. This was becoming a habit: me racing out of the bakery, and him finding me at night.

"I'd like this habit to stop," he said. "I don't like having to keep finding you."

"You voluntarily looked for me this time," I teased.

As he smiled, I felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him. I wasn't sure why, either. I could barely see the smile in the dark, but it was damn attractive!

I wasn't sure why I had even fallen for him in the first place. Will was hardly my type. I preferred the edgy, rougher ones, not the pretty-boys who walked the straight and narrow.

_Love finds you_, I told myself.

"Besides, I sort of like it," I said softly, looking into his eyes.

I wondered if he wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him. He was doing a good job at hiding it, if he did want to.

"Mr. Brown might wake up and wonder where I am," Will said. He was obviously being flustered by my flirtations with him. Will placed his hands on my shoulder. "Please, Miss Werden, stay in the bakery, for once."

I looked at where his hands were placed, then back at him. In his eyes, I saw that he probably thought this was wrong thing to do – an "Oh, my God" expression swept over him.

"Fine," I said.

He nodded once, his face still tense. He let go of my shoulders.

"Goodnight, Miss Werden," was all he said before leaving.

I stood outside the bakery for a few moments, watching him go inside. I felt completely rejected. I was still stranded in Port Royal, and the one romantic moment that I had with Will had been ruined by his cowardice.

I hated rejection.


	8. A Pirate Story

Chapter Eight

A Pirate Story

* * *

Last night seemed consume me. It was under my skin, and I swear it would never get out from under me. I began to analyze every bit of last night to the point where I wasn't sure if I could anymore.

Will was looking for me. He was either intrigued by me and masked it with his concern for me running away, or he really was making sure that I wasn't running away.

The only time we really talked was when we were alone. Either that meant that he was interested in me... or he was trying to make sure I wasn't going to run away. (The only time that we _were_ alone was when he was walking me back to the bakery at night.)

I wondered if, when Will put his hands on my shoulders last night, that he meant it in a friendly way. Was he trying to make his statement more meaningful, or was it something more than friendship?

Why did this boy have to be so hard to read?!

I hated myself for analyzing last night. I didn't know why I was doing it. I was not the kind to analyze anything between a crush and me. I didn't know how on earth William Turner had gotten under my skin.

I knew that this was a crush. It was infatuation. My mind had been consumed by him.

The worst part was, I had no idea why.

Polar opposites were not supposed me be attracted like the magnets nature intended them to be. We were supposed to be with our own kind. I was supposed to be with an adventurous boy, one who wasn't afraid to do anything. Will was supposed to be with a respectable girl was from the time period.

When Will came in the next afternoon, my heart sped at just the sight of him, elated to see him. At the same time, I wanted him out. Just seeing him would bring me back to last night, and I would over analyze, yet again.

As I was rolling out some dough, I looked up at him. His brown eyes caught my blue ones. Somehow, I couldn't let go of his gaze, even though I wanted to horribly.

"Good afternoon, Miss Werden," Will said.

I nodded once. "Good afternoon, Will." I put the rolling pin aside. "The usual?"

"Yes," he replied.

I cut him two slices of bread from a freshly baked loaf, put them on a plate, and set it at our usual table.

We sat and began to talk, all as if last night and my ridiculous escapade never happened.

* * *

I spent that evening cleaning the bakery. Mrs. Ashford had gone to get supplies for the week, and assigned me to clean the bakery while she did so.

I was almost done cleaning the counter when there was a knock on the door to bakery. I looked up, and through the windowed part of the door, I could see that it was Will. He startled me. I had grown used to the silence and being able to hear my own thoughts.

The glow of the setting sun on the horizon, mixed with the dying fire behind me, cast a relaxed glow over the bakery. In his black and white waistcoat, he looked almost like a prisoner that escaped from jail. I smiled – he looked too peaceful to ever be a prisoner.

"I'd like to buy a loaf of bread," Will said. "If you don't have any left, I'll come back tomorrow."

I looked behind me to see that we had one loaf left wrapped in a white cloth. I grabbed it and handed it to him.

"Three shillings," I said.

He handed me the coins. "Thank you," he said.

I nodded and put the coins next to me, wondering whether or not to give them to Mrs. Ashford. It was just three shillings, would she really miss them that much?

Will headed for the door. I didn't want him to leave. I hated being in the bakery by myself.

"Will," I said.

He turned around.

"Can you stay and talk?"

He looked shy suddenly, if not a bit guilty.

"Miss Werden, what if someone saw a gentleman and a lady in a shop alone?" he asked.

"A shop with windows and no curtains is hardly the place for a tryst," I joked.

He didn't seem to think it was a joke.

"Come on, Will," I said. "I'm just really bored here! Stay with me and talk."

"About what?" he asked.

"Something, anything!"

He wasn't leaving, thank God. I had his attention, at least.

"Talk to me about the pirate attack," I said.

He seemed flustered at those very words.

"I already told you about it," Will said.

"No, you didn't. You just told me that the town was attacked six months ago and that it was ruined."

He sighed, sitting down at one of the chairs.

"That's all," he said.

"No," I said, "it isn't. You briefly mentioned it before, and now you're dismissing it. I don't care what it is you're hiding from me, I just want to know what it is!"

Will was thinking. I took that as a good sign; he was thinking of how, exactly, to tell me.

"I was in love with a lady," Will began. "Her name was Elizabeth Swann. She was beautiful. I had known her since we were children. She was on a voyage from England to Port Royal with her father, the then-newly appointed Governor. I was on a shipwreck. She found me in the water and managed to get some of the crew off the ship to rescue me.

"Eight years later, she was kidnapped by pirates. She had a cursed medallion that she took from me on the ship, the day we first met. It had a skull on it; she assumed that I was a pirate. She hid it from the crew surrounding me. Even then, she was saving me in ways I didn't know.

"She was kidnapped because of that medallion – because of me. I had to save her."

I had a feeling that Will hadn't gone after Elizabeth just because of a medallion. Will looked so nostalgic and serious, though, that I didn't dare interrupt him.

"I set free a pirate in the jail that knew where the pirates were taking her. I'm sure you've heard of him. Jack Sparrow?"

I shook my head. I could practically hear his thoughts: _You _aren't_ from around here._

"We commandeered a ship, _The Dauntless_, to save her. We went to Tortuga to try and find a crew for _The Dauntless_. On the voyage there, though, Jack told me that my father had been a pirate, and not a merchant sailor like I thought he was. I became furious with Jack for saying that. I was against piracy. Jack said that piracy was in my blood, and I knew that I had taken his help – a pirate's help. I eventually came to terms with that --"

"Will," I interrupted. "As profound as that is, you were telling a story about the pirate attack and Elizabeth."

"Right," Will said. "As I said, we went to Tortuga to get a crew. We found Elizabeth and the pirates who kidnapped about to kill her at Isla de Muerta."

If my four years of Spanish stuck with me at all, I knew that it meant Dead Island.

"Barbossa, the captain of the pirate crew, cut her hand and put the blood on the medallion. Apparently, it was a blood curse. They were immortal. They needed my blood to reverse the curse. Her blood didn't reverse the curse, and I helped Elizabeth escape from the cave. We went back on the ship and tried to get Elizabeth back home. After a fight at sea, Barbossa took our crew hostage. To keep my crew safe, I sacrificed myself, saying that I had the blood they needed. It ties in with my father again – he was the blood that started the curse, my father was killed at the hand of Captain Barbossa. They needed my father's blood to reverse it – my blood, the blood of a pirate."

I was enthralled with the story. This didn't seem like something that could actually happen, it all seemed part of a book or movie.

"As Barbossa was about to kill me at Isla de Muerta, Jack came into the cave, saying that the Navy was waiting for Barbossa outside. I don't know how Jack did it, but he somehow distracted Barbossa from killing me. They began to sword fight. Elizabeth was in the cave, too, fighting off the pirates anyway she could. I helped her. When I had a moment, I went to the chest to cut my hand and put my blood one of the medallions, reversing the curse. Jack shot Barbossa. Hedied."

I was still enthralled with the story. I knew my blue eyes were wide. I looked down, then back at Will, in order to soften them.

"What happened to Elizabeth?" I asked.

"She and I said our goodbyes at Isla de Muerta. Jack was caught that night and nearly hung. I couldn't let it happen, though. He saved my life, it was my turn to save his. I interrupted the hanging and let him go free. Elizabeth's father, Governor Swann, was furious with me. Were it not for Elizabeth, I would have been hung before Jack."

"Why?" I asked. "You didn't do anything, though."

"Piracy," Will pointed out. "Her father let me free... again. I thought that perhaps Elizabeth and I would have a future together. I loved her more than ever, and she knew I risked my life to save hers."

There was a painful silence. I knew the story wouldn't be the fairy tale ending he had envisioned it.

"Elizabeth chose Jack," was what broke the silence.

"Jack?" I repeated. "From your story, they hardly knew each other."

"They spent one day on an island together. Barbossa stranded me before he took me to Isla de Muerta."

_Oh, God_, I thought.

One day was enough to make a decision like that. It took me five minutes for me to make a decision like that with Adam.

I felt horrible for Will. Elizabeth had tricked him, and he was left broken-hearted. He looked pained just to tell the latter part of the story.

"I'm so sorry, Will," I said.

He shook his head. "It's fine, Miss Werden. It's not your fault."

I drew my lips into a thin line. I felt nothing but pity for him.

"I can see why you didn't want to tell me, then," I said.

"Yes," he said. "I have no idea where she is now. Probably on the _Black Pearl_ with Jack."

I guessed that the _Black Pearl_ was Jack's ship.

"I feel your pain," I said. "I know how hard it is to get over someone you loved. You move forward, though, and, believe me, it's a great day when you finally can look at someone else with butterflies in your stomach."

He smiled to himself, almost as if he had a private joke with that. I couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking about me.

I realized how silly that sounded: _me_ wondering if _he_ had a crush on _me_. No, we were opposites. He still seemed fixated on Elizabeth, anyway.

"You're the first person I've ever told that to," Will said.

I felt honored. when I heard him say that. He trusted me more than I thought.

"Lord Cutler Beckett is in Port Royal," Will said. "He's determined to rid these seas of pirates. He wouldn't stop with land, and I've been let go twice before with Governor Swann. Who's to say he won't make sure I never have a second chance?"

I knew I had to keep his secret. I couldn't tell anyone. Will's life was suddenly in my hands.

"I won't say anything," I promised. "I swear I'll keep your secret, Will. You can trust me."

Silence overcame us again. My heart thudded in my chest, and I was nearly overcome with emotion. What if Will was found out somehow? Would this Beckett sentence him to death? He sounded like he would do nothing to rid the seas – and lands – of pirates.

I was suddenly terrified for Will's life. What if Governor Swann's pardons were one day erased by Beckett, only to be replaced by death?

I couldn't think about it. The thought of Will being arrested and hanged made my blood turn cold and my stomach drop.

The silence was interrupted by the back door opening and closing. I looked at Will, startled. Why had Mrs. Ashford come through the back door? Will stood quickly.

"Thank you for the bread, Miss Werden," Will said. "I trust that I'll be seeing you tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes," I said.

I locked eyes with him. "Thank you," I mouthed. "I'll keep your secret."

He forced a smile, still looking nervous. I knew my expression wasn't far from his.

Will went out the door just as Mrs. Ashford entered the room. To try and wipe the expression off my face, I began cleaning the counter again.

"Christine," Mrs. Ashford said. "You look as if you've seen a ghost. What's the matter?"

I swallowed, my heart still pounding in my chest. My hands were shaking as I scrubbed the counters.

"Absolutely nothing, Mrs. Ashford," I said.

* * *

**I see that I have a lovely amount reading (and hopefully enjoying) the story, but only one or two of you are reviewing each chapter. I would really appreciate if you took the time to write even a short review! Thank you!  
**


	9. A Proper Kiss

Chapter Nine

A Proper Kiss

**Thank you for the reviews, and enjoy!**

* * *

Will came into Mrs. Ashford's Bakery in the early afternoons, per usual. Each day, I tried to act like nothing happened between us.

It wasn't necessarily my feelings towards him anymore that made it hard to look him in the eye, those dark brown ones of his that I knew were one of the most dangerous things for me. It was the fact that he had shared something so private about himself with me, and I was the only one that knew about it. I didn't feel worthy of being the keeper of his secret. I had known him for less than a month, but it was no secret that we were growing close.

I still wasn't sure what his feelings for me were. I knew mine had developed into a heart-pounding, butterflies-in-my-stomach crush, but did he see me as Miss Werden, while I saw him as Will?

He was too polite towards me to have any feelings towards me. I knew that he could be trying to respectful if he did have feelings, but weren't guys supposed to make the first move? _I_ was tempted to make the first move!

Will was still heartbroken by Elizabeth, though. The last thing he could want was a relationship. If I made the first move and he didn't want a relationship, I very well could have no one to talk to in Port Royal.

Will didn't seem like the kind to do that. He would forgive me and continue a friendship, unlike the romance I wanted.

I was torn. I could risk it next time (if there was a next time) Will visited me in the shop while we were alone. I wanted to risk it so badly, but the consequences of what could happen made me second guess it.

I was over analyzing things again. Will was the first person that made me think about his every action, wondering if it had a secret meaning behind it, until I wasn't sure if I could anymore. I hated how he was all I could think about.

On the day that Mrs. Ashford told me she would be going to town again to get supplies, I knew that I had to take the chance. I didn't want to wait any longer. He already came into the bakery everyday, couldn't we at least have two secrets while we talked over lunch?

Mrs. Ashford left to get supplies at 9:00, promptly after the bakery closed, just like every Saturday night. She assigned me to clean the bakery, just like the weeks before.

I began with washing the table Will and I sat at each afternoon. I put the pail of water on it, wrung the rag, and began to wash the table.

I wondered if Will would come and visit me tonight. I had been lucky to have him see me last week, but he had stopped by with an intention. I'd be lucky if he stopped by at all twice, much less with an intention.

I heard a knock at the front door. Hopeful, I looked out the window by the table. It was Will. My heart beat quicker in my chest.

I smiled and answered the door, changing my smile to polite rather than the giddy that it had been.

Will was at the door, calm, smiling politely. I could feel my heart beginning to sink. He didn't seem elated to see me. Then again, I was masking my feelings, what was to say that he wasn't?

"Will," I said. "Good evening."

"Good evening, Miss Werden," Will replied. "How are you?"

Always the gentleman.

"Fine," I said. "You?"

"I'm fine, as well, thank you. Do you, by chance, have an extra loaf of bread left?"

"I do," I said.

Visiting twice in one week – for bread. That had to mean something, didn't it?

I walked back to the counter and grabbed one of the two loaves of bread on the counter. He waited dutifully by the door – inside, but still near the entrance.

"You can come closer. I don't bite," I said. "Unless you're worried about..." I looked towards the window, which I could see no one out of.

"I'm just worried about what they will think," he said.

I scoffed. "It's just a teenage romance. Half the people in this town are married, I think they'd get it."

I realized I was getting ahead of myself. I could feel my cheeks flaming.

"Th-That is, that's what they'd think it is," I said.

He smiled to himself. I hated him for smiling. Something was amusing him – whether it was something with me or a private joke with himself didn't matter, he was smiling at what I said!

"I'm not going to give you your bread unless you come over here," I insisted out of sheer stupidity, still flustered from my comment and his smiling.

He walked towards me and handed me the three shillings. I looked down at them, rubbing them together. I was terribly nervous over what to do next. I realized I had never been this flustered around a person, and I had no idea why.

I put the shillings on the counter. I didn't need something to let me think about what to do next.

"Is everything alright, Miss Werden?"

I looked up at Will. It was obvious why he asked that. I was nervous, and I knew it showed.

"Will, are you my friend?" I asked.

He looked taken aback by the question. "Of course I am!"

"Do you see me as anything more than a friend?"

It slipped out before I could stop it. I could feel my heart beating even faster in my chest. I wanted to crawl in a hole. I couldn't believe I had said that!

Will was speechless and looked away for a few moments, then back at me.

"I'm sorry, it was a stupid question," I said. I tucked an invisible strand of hair behind my hair. "You should go."

"Yes."

As I looked at him, he wasn't leaving.

Now it was my turn to be speechless. My stupid question had turned into the best reply I had gotten since I arrived in Port Royal!

"I think you're beautiful, and you know just the thing to say, you get flustered easily --"

"No, I don't!" I defended, then paused for a few moments. "I only get flustered around you."

I sighed and leaned against the counter. "God, I never get flustered! I never got butterflies in my stomach, and I _never _have over analyze everything that a person does or says, but I somehow do it with you!"

He smiled. I was flustered again.

"You would hate me," I said.

God, I was saying things that I shouldn't be saying. It kept coming out like word vomit, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Will looked slightly confused.

"I'm everything you're not," I said. "I want adventure. I tend to use a colorful vocabulary, I drink, and I have done many things that deem me unworthy of being called a lady. I really don't know why I act like I do when I'm around you, Will. So, the flustered, innocent girl you see everyday in the bakery, the one that eats lunch with you... that's not me. The real me is the one you met wearing a knee-length dress and heels. This..." I gestured to myself, "is not me."

"Would it devastate you if I said that I like the Miss Werden that talks to me everyday, blushes when she sees me, and gets flustered when we talk?" he asked.

"Very much," I said.

"I'm so sorry to devastate you."

I did not want this to be happening. Whatever I felt towards Will was so wrong. He loved the innocent Christine, not the raw and bitchy one that I really was.

I suddenly felt like I was going to cry. I knew that Will could never accept me for who I was. If I even told him a bit of my life story, I doubted he would speak to me again.

He did devastate me.

"I would kiss you right now, but I'm worried someone might see," he said.

I looked behind me to see that the streets were empty. The sun was almost fully below the horizon. I hadn't realized until now that the only light in the room were those given by candles.

I couldn't help but laugh at him. A small weight was lifted off my shoulder as I laughed. Maybe opposites would attract, after all.

"Give me a proper kiss," I said. "So, that in the event that someone were to see, they would think very highly of the courtship in Mrs. Ashford's Bakery."

A smile graced his lips. He was thinking the same thing I was, I was sure.

"How do you give a proper kiss?" he asked.

I smiled, biting my lip. "You make the girl feel very special. You can put one hand on the small of her back..."

I guided Will's hand to the small of my back, then let go of his hand. His hand stayed on my back.

"You can put one hand on her chin..."

Will's hand gently held my chin. Our lips were inches apart. I felt like I was living someone else's life – that couldn't have been me that he was touching ever so softly, looking into my eyes, could it? I felt so comfortable with him that I was convinced this couldn't be real.

I placed one of my hands on his shoulders, reminding me of one of the night he walked me back to the bakery, and my other hand on one of his cheeks.

"Make her feel like she's very special," I said, so softly that I could barely hear myself.

His lips moved towards mine. Will was doing just that: I felt _very_ special to him as our eyes remained locked.

Our lips gently met. I was shocked that I was able to remain standing – my knees felt so weak that I could swear that they would buckle. I became short of breath – another mystery of how I was able to stand and continue kissing Will.

I traced my fingers lightly along his jaw as the kiss deepened. Ecstasy rushed over me. I had never felt as happy than with my first kiss with Will. I wasn't sure if anything again could amount to the sheer bliss I was feeling with just him and I – alone – in the bakery.

After a few moments, Will broke away. "Mrs. Ashford's going to be here any minute," he said.

It was his gentlemanly side again. He didn't think it would be fair for us to be interrupted, much less having Mrs. Ashford, my boss from hell, seeing us.

He could tell I was displeased.

"I'm sorry, Christine," he said.

"No, no," I dismissed. "It's fine."

In a way, it wasn't. I wanted him all to myself, to kiss him even more...

I gave him a small smile to try and convince both him and myself that it was alright.

Will ran his hand through my hair, gazing into my eyes for a moment. I wondered if he might kiss me again.

"Goodbye, Christine," he said softly.

He picked up his bread and headed out the door, closing it behind him.

My fingers lingered on my lips, my mind only beginning to comprehend what had happened this evening. We had finally kissed, and I felt so blissful that no words could describe it.

The emptiness set in when I realized that I was alone and I wasn't getting a kiss goodbye.

* * *

Even an hour later, when I was alone in my bed, I was still thinking about the kiss. It was beginning to set in that we had finally kissed. Will had given me a perfect, proper kiss, and I was sure that anyone would approve of us.

Despite the fact that I knew I was loved, I began to feel more homesick than ever. I had feelings for Will (I could hardly say that I loved him), but it made me realize that I wish I could tell Irene what happened, from the kiss that was to the kiss that could have been.

I wondered how I could go from so happy about a boy to missing my home so quickly. I had a feeling that was not a normal thing.

I pulled out my clutch from my bedside drawer and opened it, dumping the contents out. Why had I suddenly become so nostalgic?

My passport was the first thing that I came across. I opened it with a bit of difficulty. After nearly a month after not opening after it was water damaged, I was surprised it wouldn't break. I could still read the basic information, although the cover was ruined.

My drivers license was somewhat intact. I could still see my name. In my panic when I first looked at things, I didn't take note of everything that was still in halfway decent condition. My makeup was still in awful condition, though I didn't care about that.

My phone. What was attached at my ear before now seemed so foreign. I couldn't believe I had gone for nearly a month without it.

I slid it open. No lights. No signal. Nothing.

I slid my phone shut. I wasn't surprised that things weren't going back to the way they were, it was just hard to grasp at times.

I began to pack my things back into my clutch and put it on the nightstand, too lazy to put it back in the drawer.

Why did I feel so sad now? I knew that I was supposed to be so happy – Will and I finally kissed! It was my own fault that I was becoming nostalgic, it was me always being dependent on my big sister, Irene.

I lied back down in bed and closed my eyes, praying that sleep would come quickly.


	10. St Hallvard's

Chapter Ten

St. Hallvard's

**Thank you so much for your reviews! I hope that you all are enjoying the story!**

* * *

I was woken at 7:00 the next morning by Mrs. Ashford, announcing that we were to go to church. We had done this every Sunday since I arrived in Port Royal. Mrs. Ashford and I would go to St. Hallvard's Catholic Church for the hour long mass, our rosaries and bibles in hand (mine were borrowed from her).

Many of the Catholic rituals were unfamiliar and awkward to me. My mother was Jewish, and had raised my sister and me to be ones. Crossing myself after each prayer and receiving communion – a piece of unleavened bread that symbolized the body of the Holy Spirit and wine, which symbolized the blood of the Holy Spirit – still seemed confusing to me. I didn't understand why we had to do these rituals. I did them, anyway, even though Mrs. Ashford had to help me the first few times. She kept her eye on me like a hawk through the mass, almost as if she couldn't believe I had never been in a Catholic environment and she had to make sure I didn't do anything to embarrass her.

The first time I got my rosary was at the bakery, right before I was about to go to St. Hallvard's for the first time. It looked like a necklace to me and was lovely enough to be one, and I wore it as one. Before we were about to leave the bakery, though, Mrs. Ashford saw what I had done and gaped at me, ordering me to take it off and said that I had "dishonored a devotion". I later found out that a rosary was used for praying.

The mass was long and the church was insanely hot. Heat seemed to be the only thing I had experienced in Port Royal: the heat between Mrs. Ashford and me, the heat between Will and myself, and, of course, the unbearable heat of summer.

As I went to sleep Sunday night, I started to dread Monday. I couldn't help but worry that things would be awkward between us. Twenty-four hours had passed since the kiss and he hadn't said anything to me. I understood that Sunday was the day of rest here, but Will lived next to me! I supposed that the only reason he didn't come was because the bakery was closed on Sunday, and he couldn't buy bread.

I would have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to see Will, where we would sit at our table, talking about our daily life over bread, hiding two secrets from Mrs. Ashford and the customers.

* * *

My heart began to pound in my chest at 11:30 on Monday morning. I tried so hard not to think of Will, but it was inevitable. I was constantly looking up at the door, trying to figure out when he would come and see me. Just the thought of seeing him the first time after our kiss made my heart pound.

Yet again, I was at a complete blank when I asked myself why I was so infatuated with him. He had never made me feel this way before. I wondered how I could be attracted to someone so deeply who walked the straight and narrow.

It was infatuation. Infatuations happened without explanation. It was love that needed substance, bonding, reason, and trust. That was how I knew I didn't love Will. I couldn't even explain why I was infatuated with him, not to mention the fact that we had nothing behind us except for chit-chat for fifteen minutes a day.

A while later, I heard the door open. Just like all the other times, my heart began to pound. I looked up, half-expecting to see a regular customer, and half-expecting to see Will.

I was so thankful it was the latter.

At the same time, my stomach churned, andI felt sick looking at him. Was my heart really beating that fast?

It wasn't long before I realized that I was having mixed emotions with him. I was angry at him for not giving me a kiss goodnight and just leaving me, but I was so ecstatic to see him at the same time.

Was that even possible?

I stopped taking the fresh loaf of bread out of the pan to look at him. Saturday night came back so quickly – the proper kiss, the way I had never felt when I had kissed someone...

"Good afternoon, Will," I said, keeping my tone as proper as I could.

"Good afternoon, Miss Werden."

I hated him for saying Miss Werden. I had heard him call me Christine for the first time. It felt like he was taking a step away from wanting a relationship, but I knew exactly why he was doing it. Why did he feel like he had to keep our relationship secret? I felt like pulling him into a kiss right now, even with Mrs. Ashford and another customer in the bakery. Did he feel the same way?

I went back to getting the bread out of the pan and cut two slices, putting it on a plate and going to our usual table. I set the plate down and we took our seats.

This is what I imagined for weeks: sitting across from him, knowing that my lips had been on his just two days ago. I knew I should be light-hearted and flirtatious, but Will was back to being the gentleman I had met, not the one who gave me a proper kiss in the bakery.

I looked over to Mrs. Ashford to see if she was still working with her customer. She was, and was currently taking out some bread out of a pan for him.

"Meet me at St. Hallvard's at 9:15," I said softly, locking eyes with him.

He frowned. "Christine," he said softly.

_Christine._ It sounded so wonderful the way he said it.

"I would love to be with you any way I can, but I don't believe that a church is the most appropriate place," he finished.

I sighed. "Will, I'm not going to make out with you in a church. I just need to talk to you, and a church is the only place that I can think of. The priests and nuns won't have a problem with it, will they? We'll sit in the back, we'll be quiet... Really, the only ones who would be there would be them, and I really don't think that they would judge."

It was the only place I could think of that would satisfy both of us. Will would maintain the secret that he wanted, and I could get my time with him that I wanted.

Will nodded. "St. Hallvard's at 9:15."

* * *

When closing time approached at 9:00, customers were still eager to get what was left of the bread at Mrs. Ashford's Bakery. I was in a rush to get out of there, and I knew I looked antsy.

Even at 9:00, the customers were still in the shop. The final ones left at 9:03, and that was with me rushing with their orders. I knew that I would need to hurry to St. Hallvard's if I was going to be there at 9:15. I wished that I could hit myself for not making it 9:30 to have Will and I meet up.

"Christine, start cleaning those pans for me," Mrs. Ashford said.

Shit. I would never make it there in time. There had to have been fifteen pans!

I did as I was told, picking up one of the pans and scrubbing it in a pail of water. The bakery became gradually quieter the longer I scrubbed.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Mrs. Ashford asked. "If I didn't know better, I think you'd promised a boy you'd meet him."

I blanched. Did she know? No, she couldn't! She was busy with a customer when we were talking – _quietly_ – and had been out getting supplies when we kissed!

"I need to pray!" I said, turning around, sopping wet rag in hand.

Mrs. Ashford looked befuddled, and put her hands on her hip.

"I need religion. Bad. I need to pray and confess!"

Mrs. Ashford looked at me blankly. I wondered if she bought my religious excuse.

"Right now," I added, looking her in her blank brown eyes. Her expression (or, lack thereof) was rather frightening.

"Go," she said. "Who am I to stop you from talking to Jesus about your sins?"

Thankful that I could go, I ran into the parlor, up the stairs to my room and grabbed the rosary that was hidden in my clutch in my bedside drawer, then ran back down the stairs to the bakery.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Ashford!" I said.

For the first time in weeks, Mrs. Ashford broke her cold, stony facade and gave a genuine, albeit small, smile.

"You pray your little heart out, Christine."

I smiled, then left the bakery. I gathered the skirts in my hands and ran down the streets of Port Royal, apologizing to those that I nearly ran into.

The rosary was getting hard to hold on to. I slipped it over my head, tucking it inside my dress. I was sure that passerbys thought I was going to some sort of hell for doing that, but I hardly cared.

Five minutes later, I arrived at the church. My lungs burned from the running, and my legs felt wobbly. I walked into the church slowly, partly because of my legs, and partly to catch my breath. As I walked into the church, a nun, all in black, walked past me, eying my rosary that I had around me.

_You're _so_ going to hell now_, I thought to myself, taking it off and holding it in my hands, going up the aisle.

St. Hallvard's really was a beautiful church. It reminded me of something that I would see in Rome or England, only smaller. Stained glass windows of saints cast a rainbow glow over the altar, due to the setting sun. Grey stone covered the floor and walls, leaving a medium brown wood for the pews.

I saw Will sitting in the third pew to the back. I walked to it, my shoes softly click-clacking on the stones below me. Will turned his head to see if it was me. I gave a small smile and sat next to him, smoothing my dress.

"Thank you for coming," I said.

"It's my pleasure, Christine," Will said softly, looking me in the eye.

I had to look away for a moment – the beating in my chest was too rapid. I looked down at my rosary and fingered the white beads.

"I didn't think you were that religious," Will said, commenting on my rosary.

"I'm not," I said. "Honestly, I don't even know who Saint Hallvard is."

"He defended a woman who was falsely accused of theft and feared for her life. He was killed trying to keep her on board a ship. Saint Hallvard's patronage is for the innocence and virtuous.

I was surprised he knew that. I kept my eyes down at my rosary.

"I just brought this as a cover for Mrs. Ashford," I said. "She thought I was meeting a boy."

I laughed softly and soon realized I was the only one laughing. Will didn't see any humor in it.

"I'm Jewish, actually," I said, regarding the rosary.

I looked up at Will to see that he was somewhat surprised.

"You are?" he asked.

"Mmhmm," I replied. "The first time I saw this rosary, I thought it was a necklace. Mrs. Ashford looked like she was about to kill me. I could swear I was going to hell, with her expression."

Was it bad to say "hell" in church?

There was a short silence.

"My mom was the one behind me being Jewish," I continued. "My dad was Presbyterian. My dad just wanted my mom to be happy, and he wanted my sister and I to be comfortable with whatever sort of god we worshiped. I guess that answers the question of why I mistook a rosary for a necklace," I chuckled.

"Your family," Will said. "You've never told me about them."

"You've never told me about your family, either."

"My mother passed when I was twelve, and I came looking for my father shortly thereafter."

Will began looking for his dad when he was twelve... that must have been when he met Elizabeth. I knew that his father was dead, too, thanks to Barbossa.

"I'm so sorry, Will," I said.

"It's fine, Christine," he dismissed.

There was a pained silence between us. I fingered the rosary beads some more, wondering what to say.

"Tell me about your family," he said. "You already know about mine."

I sighed. "I have an older sister, Irene. She's twenty-years-old and looks exactly like me... just aged four years."

I wondered what else to give away. Would saying that she was tan from playing tennis on the University of Michigan's tennis team be too confusing?

"There's nothing to say about my parents, really. Their names are Alexis and Brandon. They're just... parents."

This was the first time since I arrived in Port Royal that I talked about my family. A lump began to form in my throat, but I tried my hardest to push it aside.

"May I ask why they aren't here?" Will asked.

I froze at that answer, just like I used to freeze when the question of where I was from came up. I said nothing.

"Christine, I remember Mrs. Ashford saying something about you being found in the water... were they killed by pirates?"

I couldn't say anything. The very thought of my family made me want to start crying.

"I don't want to talk about this," I said.

I wanted so badly to cry on Will's shoulder, saying how much I missed them and that I wanted to go back home. I almost told him that I wasn't from the time period. I needed so badly to get it off my chest, just like he had told me everything about the pirate attack. I knew that my secret was much more dangerous. Even if a nun heard what I had to say, I would be locked up in an insane asylum!

I trusted Will, but I knew that he wasn't ready for my secret. I would tell him when I knew he was ready.

Will pulled me into a hug, which I couldn't refuse. I placed my hand on his chest, closing my eyes, keeping the tears back with everything that I had.

I felt Will kiss my forehead, and I felt even more guilty. I wasn't telling him everything, and it was beginning to eat at me. He would want to know.

I hated how vulnerable I became around him.

* * *

With Will walking me back to the bakery, I was back at 10:15. I loved being with him, our time in St. Hallvard's, and the walk home. It managed to distract me from slipping out the truth about me and kept me talking about my life in the bakery and Will's life in the blacksmith's shop.

Will gave me a kiss goodnight, which left me smiling as I let myself into the dark bakery and up to my room. The night had been better than I planned, but I supposed that by now, I should be used to Will making me happy just by _being_ with him.

I shut the door to my room and walked over to the edge of my bed and took my shoes off, putting them by my bed. I opened the drawer to my nightstand to find my clutch to put my rosary in. To my horror, it was gone.

My life from the twenty-first century had been in that bag. I couldn't afford to lose it!

In a frantic search for my clutch, I looked under my bed, then in the drawers at my vanity. Blood drained from my face when I realized I couldn't find it.

I knew that Mrs. Ashford had it. She had the clutch that had my passport and drivers license. Those things had my date of birth and location. She would soon know that I wasn't on a ship that was attacked coming here.

Tomorrow she would be questioning me. I could imagine her waking me up tomorrow as usual, only demanding an explanation for my passport.

I cringed at the very thought.

Mrs. Ashford knew.

"Shit," I said, my voice tight.


	11. Secrets

Chapter Eleven

Secrets

**Sorry for the short chapter, haha...**

**Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

I didn't sleep at all that night. I lied on my bed, still in my dress that I had worn all day. The corset poked even more into my ribs, making me more uncomfortable. I had tried to switch positions, but nothing seemed to help. The pain from my corset provided a temporary distraction for what had happened that night.

I was terrified that Mrs. Ashford knew. I began to wonder the hours and minutes of when she would come into my room, saying that she knew. Would I get sympathy, or would I get thrown into the street?

Knowing her, I would be thrown into a madhouse this morning.

What if Will found out? What if Mrs. Ashford told me to run an errand when he came into the bakery this afternoon?

Dread filled my stomach. I couldn't let Will find out. If he was to find out, though, I wanted to be the one to tell him, not Mrs. Ashford. I needed to be able to explain myself, rather than having Mrs. Ashford throw my clutch in his direction and tell him what his "friend" was up to.

In my exhausted state, that seemed so realistic, her doing something as cruel as that.

I was aware that I was supposed to sleep, but I didn't feel tired. I felt awake. This was adrenaline that I was feeling. Thoughts of what could happen in just a few hours consumed me. When I couldn't bear to think of one situation, like Mrs. Ashford saying that she found my passport while she dressed me, I moved onto a different situation, like meeting Will tonight and learning that Mrs. Ashford told him. Every situation repeated again and again in my head until I thought I had truly lost my mind.

Through my thoughts, I could hear a knock on my door. I sat up. Was it morning already?

"What?" I asked, knowing full well that it was Mrs. Ashford on the other side of the door.

Mrs. Ashford opened the door. I could faintly see her outline. When she walked closer, the became a bit clearer.

"Do you want to change?" was the first thing she asked. She must have been able to see that I was still in my clothes from yesterday.

"No," I said, getting off of my bed. I hadn't slept under the covers; I was hot enough as it was, and I had other things on my mind beside getting under my covers.

"What time did you come home?" Mrs. Ashford asked.

I was sure she knew. I know she heard me rushing around my room trying to find what remained of my life.

"I think 10:15," I said, trying to keep my voice casual.

"You really _did_ need to pray," Mrs. Ashford noted.

I completely forgot that I had used praying as my excuse to meet Will.

"Yeah," I said. "I did."

Praying now wouldn't be such a bad idea. I knew I would need it – Mrs. Ashford was too calm.

"Let's start baking, then," she said.

Yes -- I would definitely need to pray.

* * *

Shortly after beginning to bake, I realized how exhausted I was. Everything seemed to ache – my muscles, my eyes, my head...

I knew I couldn't ask to go back to bed. There was a long day ahead, and I knew that if I left Mrs. Ashford alone when Will was here, he would be told something about me that he didn't want to hear.

It seemed like days had gone by until Will finally came into the bakery at his usual time. My pain in my head and eyes, as well as exhaustion, was overwhelming. Automatically, I served him two pieces of bread, then went to our table, plopping down in the chair.

"You look exhausted," he said softly, so only I could hear it.

"I am," I said. "I didn't sleep at all last night."

Will looked slightly concerned. "Why not?"

I couldn't tell him. Not here in the bakery.

"Things were bothering me," I said.

It was the truth, too, although things weren't bothering me – they had gotten under my skin and consumed me.

"Why don't you ask Mrs. Ashford if you can rest for a while?" he asked. "You look exhausted."

_You don't know the half of it_, I thought.

Will's brown eyes turned more concerned. "May I ask what's bothering you, Christine?"

A lump formed in my throat. I was tempted to cry. I knew it was because I was exhausted. I had never cried in front of a guy before. I wanted to tell him so bad, it was killing me inside! He was so sweet and innocent... and I was hiding something from him, something that, once I began to really know him, I wouldn't be judged for.

I blinked tears back and swallowed. "So, so much."

* * *

Shortly after Will left, I asked Mrs. Ashford if I could lay down for a while. She instantly agreed, insisting I take the rest of the day off. I wondered what had caused this random act of kindness – and, come to think of it, yesterday's.

I went upstairs to my room and slept until 9:30 in a deep, dreamless sleep. I couldn't remember the last time I had been so happy to sleep.

I had woken suddenly at 9:30 with a sharp pain in my ribs. I remembered that I had been in my corset (which felt like a too-tight bra, only all over my chest and torso) for a day and a half. I got up out of my bed, still groggy from my deep sleep. I had never enjoyed sleep so much. I was still exhausted, though. I needed to find Mrs. Ashford to help get me out of this!

I left my room and went down the stairs, then to the parlor, barefoot all the while.

"Mrs. Ashford, do you know if anything has been bothering Miss Werden?"

Will's voice made me freeze in my tracks. What was he doing here – and why was he talking to Mrs. Ashford about me?

"Between you and me..." Mrs. Ashford said.

I could have sworn that my heart froze. She was going to say it. My entire life was going to be turned upside down because of _that woman_.

"You can call her Christine around me," she said.

I breathed a sigh of relief and pressed myself against the wall of the parlor, far enough so that Mrs. Ashford nor Will, both in the bakery, could see me.

"But, no," Mrs. Ashford continued. "She hasn't said anything to me."

I couldn't help but wonder if Mrs. Ashford was looking out for me all along, after all. She didn't give away my secret.

Or she could be using it blackmail me, or waiting for the opportune moment. With all that I had seen of her, I was opting for the darker ideas.

"She just seemed... different when I spoke with her this afternoon," Will said. "She's... distant, as if she's hiding something from me."

My heart crept into my throat. She was going to say it, I knew it.

"Christine was distant a bit of yesterday, too," he continued. "Perhaps it was something I said --"

"What did you ask her about?" Mrs. Ashford interrupted.

"About her family."

I prayed that he would say that was at the bakery over lunch, and not at Saint Hallvard's.

"It's been a month, William," she said. "Neither of us seem to know what happened to that innocent little girl."

_Innocent little girl_? I was tempted to give myself away at that. Mrs. Ashford tried to be a saint around Will – of course.

"She could have been attacked by pirates and been on a vessel that was burnt..." she trailed off. "Or perhaps her parents mistreated her..."

_Or perhaps the innocent little girl time traveled!_ I screamed in my head, closing my eyes.

"She may have left on her own, too," Will said.

I was grateful for him being the voice of reason with Mrs. Ashford's fanciful ways.

There was a few moments of silence when Mrs. Ashford said, "I don't trust her."

I was frozen. Why didn't Mrs. Ashford turst me?!

"Why?" Will said. "Christine is a perfectly nice lady!"

"I have reason not to."

_Bullshit!_ I thought, imagining I was screaming it to her.

Why didn't she trust me? Was this just just a lie for us not getting along?

"You should be careful who you trust, William Turner," Mrs. Ashford said. "Those that you do trust may not always be who they seem to be."

I knew that Will was just as shocked as I. Mrs. Ashford was making false accusations about me: being untrustworthy and holding secrets about my past.

At that moment, there was no longer a fire between us. We were no longer two elements fueling the other. A war had begun, and I was determined to win.


	12. Prayers

Chapter Twelve

Prayers

**Thank you for the reviews!**

**I'm sorry for the short chapter, but at least it's something, eh?**

**Thank you for reading, and I hope that you're enjoying the story so far!**

* * *

I was shocked to find that I woke up to Mrs. Ashford's knocking the next morning. Had I slept the entire night? I knew my exhaustion from staying up all night before won me over, despite the fact that Will had talked to Mrs. Ashford behind my back and that she had my clutch _somewhere_.

As I heard the knocking, I realized how sore my ribs were. They ached, even when I was simply laying and breathing. I thought about faking cramps, but I knew I couldn't leave Mrs. Ashford alone with Will. I knew she would tell him my secret, otherwise.

Trying to hide this secret was becoming exhausting. It would be so much easier if I simply _told_ Will. All secrets were that way. I began to understand why Mrs. Ashford was so blunt: she would rather spend her energy yelling at me than keeping her feelings from me.

The knocking continued. I sat up, my ribs screaming in pain. I, however, had to bite my tongue, in order not to. I had slept in a nightgown last night; I wondered whether I had gotten the brunt of the pain in my sleep, or I was just about to.

I closed my eyes tightly, wishing the pain would go away.

"I'm awake," I whined,sounding the complete opposite of the seventeen-year-old that I was.

Mrs. Ashford opened the door and walked in. She looked through my dresses and picked out a light pink one, then gathered the undergarments. Grudgingly, I got out of bed. My ribs ached, especially when I tried to stand up straight. I decided to slouch in order to ease the pain. I hoped that Mrs. Ashford wouldn't notice or care.

She set the clothing on the bed and put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't slouch," she scolded.

With effort and willpower, I stood up straighter. Mrs. Ashford put the corset around me. I could hardly dread the pain before she started pulling at the strings. The pain was so sharp that it knocked the wind out of me. The pain ran all over my body.

"Fucking A!" I said. "Ow, Jesus Christ!"

Mrs. Ashford froze. I realized that I had said, in her eyes, the worst thing I could say.

"Oh," I said softly. "I... I think I need to pray tonight."

It registered with me that I should apologize.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

Mrs. Ashford sighed and continued lacing me.

* * *

Lunch with Will was the same as always. I was more rested than yesterday, and I was sure that I wasn't the only one that benefited from that. Even though my ribs were aching the entire day, they managed to feel a little better when Will came for lunch.

"I have to go to church tonight," I told Will.

"Why?" he asked.

"I swore in front of Mrs. Ashford this morning."

Will looked surprised. Apparently, he forgot that I told him I tended to use colorful language.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I used her Lord's name in vain."

Will looked aghast. I couldn't help but burst out laughing at his expression. I had to hide my face in order to not seem even more rude.

"What?" he asked.

"Your expression!" I said, through laughs. "I honestly would have thought that you've never heard of a woman saying that in vain."

"But, I never _have_ heard a woman say that in vain."

I simply looked at Will. I was shocked.

"_Never_?" I echoed.

He shook his head. I was still shocked. _One _woman must have said it around him before.

"Well, then," I said. "It sounds like I'll be needing all the extra prayers I can get for my wretched soul. How about you join me? St. Hallvard's, 9:15?"

Will nodded, but something seemed a bit different about him. I couldn't help but wonder if it was that he realized I tended to use a colorful language, or if it was Mrs. Ashford brainwashing him.

I prayed that it wasn't the latter.

* * *

On conditions that I would go and pray, Mrs. Ashford let me go right after closing. I wished that my door had a lock. I knew that Mrs. Ashford would go through my room again for _something_. It was catch-22: I didn't want to leave her alone, since I knew that she would go through my things, but I needed to talk to Will about Mrs. Ashford. I was beginning to think that she wasn't just looking to uncover a secret she knew I had, but that she was beginning to work against me. How, I didn't know -- I was just beginning to be suspicious. I knew she was trying to turn Will against me by her innocent facade with him.

All that I could do was keep my guard up. I was nearly powerless at this point. I would have to watch Mrs. Ashford's every move, just like she was watching mine, and analyze them. Maybe, if I thought hard enough, all of her actions would make sense.

I wished that I could leave my confusion and business in my room above Mrs. Ashford's Bakery, but I couldn't. I needed to do whatever I could to persuade Will that Mrs. Ashford was lying, no matter how subtle it was.

Rosary in hand, I entered St. Hallvard's. Will wasn't in any of the pews, and I realized that I was here before him. I began to walk down the aisle, finding a good place to sit in the empty church. I scooted to the right side of the aisle as I saw a priest coming down the aisle. I smiled politely to him.

"Good evening, child," he said, then continuing on his way.

I smiled to myself and began to walk down the aisle. I wondered how long Mrs. Ashford thought it was acceptable to be here for saying such a thing this morning. Was it an hour, or was it two that she thought I should stay here, praying for forgiveness?

"Christine," I heard behind me.

I knew that it was Will before I turned around. I was so happy to see him. Spending time alone with him was what I needed after a long day like today.

Will came to me, giving me a brief kiss on the lips, then sat down at the pew closest to us.

"You used the Lord's name in vain today," Will said.

I was grateful that I hadn't told him about what I had said beforehand. He would have gone on a tangent.

"Yeah. My ribs really hurt, though!" I defended. "Mrs. Ashford was putting me in another corset when I had been in one for, like, a day-and-a-half straight, what else could I have said?"

Will sighed. He was probably thinking that I could have said, "Please stop", or something along those proper lines of his.

"I was going to tell her that I had cramps and ask if I could have the day off," I said.

"Stomach cramps from a corset?" he asked. "Are those things that terrible?"

I tried so hard not to laugh at Will's naivety.

"No, Will," I said. "Cramps. Ones that a girl gets every month..."

I got a semi blank look from him, as if he were trying to hide the fact that he had no idea what sort of cramps I was talking about.

"Ones from something that tells a woman each month that she isn't pregnant."

It was clear that Will hadn't been taught the bare minimum of women.

"Oh," Will said.

"I didn't, though, obviously," I said, trying to avoid the awkward silence that would have been inevitable. "I wanted to see you."

He smiled. "I'm very glad that you didn't decide to take the day off."

I smiled back, then looked down at the rosary in my hand. It reminded me of Mrs. Ashford. I looked back up at Will.

"Actually, I was too afraid to leave you alone with her," I confessed.

Will frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I heard her talking with you last night," I said. "About how she doesn't trust me."

I decided to leave out what Will had said about me being distant. I need need another minute argument on top of this one.

"Are you concerned, Christine?" Will asked gently.

I shrugged. I honestly didn't know whether or not to be.

"I'm more angry at her," I said. "And – And I'm..."

I didn't want to admit to Will, nor to myself. It seemed like something awful was happening, and I was turning a blind eye to it, when I knew it was in my power to change it.

I knew that I didn't know _what_ was going to happen, though. All I could do was see if I could look into anything Mrs. Ashford did or said, but, knowing her, she would keep the cards close to her chest, if she was going to do anything.

"I'm just worried with what she could do," I admitted.

"Why would you think that?" he asked.

I swallowed. "Please don't listen to anything Mrs. Ashford says."

Yet again, I had the perfect moment to tell Will. I didn't, though. I was a coward, and I knew it.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because she will tell you lies about me. And you need to go on blind faith and not believe those lies. Believe _me_, Will."

My voice became hard at the last sentence. The lies with Mrs. Ashford were inevitably going to come, and Will needed to believe me, not the bitch of a baker.

"Christine, what are you trying to say?" he asked.

I knew what Will meant: _What are you hiding from me?_

I couldn't think of what to say without telling him _it_. I felt like I was betraying him by keeping it from him and by telling him. I couldn't win.

"Promise me," I whispered, looking into his eyes.

Will was silent, returning a concerned, yet calm gaze. He put one hand on my cheek, which I half rested my hand on and half held on to. I almost felt like I was begging him to the only one who I knew would stand by me if the truth got out.

In a way, he really was.

"I promise," he said softly.


	13. Water

Chapter Thirteen

Water

**Sorry for the short length of the chapter, but I hopefully you won't mind. :D**

**Thank you for the reviews, and I hope you're still enjoying the story!**

* * *

The days seemed to blend into one. I couldn't tell Monday apart from Friday. I knew it was Saturday when, after closing, Mrs. Ashford went to get supplies for the coming week, and I knew it was Sunday when we went to St. Hallvard's. Apart from that, the days blended.

My guard was higher than ever. I second-guessed everything I said to Mrs. Ashford, out of fear that she would misinterpret something, or that I would accidentally say the wrong thing.

It had been a week since I had last seen him at St. Hallvard's. We hadn't met up outside of the bakery for a week. I felt so stressed with everything that I felt I was about to explode. It was exhausting trying to see if Mrs. Ashford had already figured my secret -- I was sure she had – and when she would decide to reveal it to Will. Each day he came into the bakery, my heart thudded in my chest out of fear. I couldn't help but wonder if Mrs. Ashford had told him yet.

Each time he greeted me with a smile and we began our conversation, I dismissed my theory.

"You've been busy," Will noted the week after going to St.Hallvard's for the second time. "I've hardly seen you."

"I know," I apologized. "I'm just so stressed that all I want to do is sleep by the end of the day."

Will didn't need to know what I was stressed about.

"Would you like a break from the stress?" he asked.

I smiled gratefully, feeling like a few pounds that I was carrying on my back was lifted.

"I would love that," I said. "Where do you have in mind?"

He paused. "I'm not quite sure on the location yet... How about I think of that the rest of the day, and I'll come for you after the bakery closes?"

I smiled again. "That would be wonderful."

* * *

The day went slower than all the days of last week combined. I wanted it to be done with -- I needed a break with Will horribly. I had been so distracted and stressed with Mrs. Ashford and my paranoia that I didn't even have time for Will. I hoped that he would distract me.

After cleaning up with Mrs. Ashford, there was a knock at the door. I knew it was Will before I turned around.

"I'm going out for a while, Mrs. Ashford," I told her.

She nodded. I wondered what she was going to do, now that I was gone. This was the first time she had the bakery to herself in a week. I wondered if she was happy that she was finally getting some time alone. I was sure she was – but I wasn't exactly sure for what. She had already searched my room at least once – was another time necessary?

"Fine," Mrs. Ashford said shortly.

I wondered how hard it was for her to contain her happiness.

I walked out the door and met Will, giving him a smile. I looked behind me to see that, through, the window, Mrs. Ashford had her back to us, busy cleaning up.

I looked forward at the setting sun. The sun had to be setting earlier than since I got here. It was terrible how I couldn't even keep my days straight.

"What day is it?" I asked Will.

"Wednesday" Will answered.

_Good God_, I thought. _Four more days._

"What date?" I reworded.

"The sixteenth," he replied.

Was July already here?!

"July," I confirmed, making it a statement, rather than a question.

"Yes," he said.

It had been more than a month since I had arrived in Port Royal, and all I had managed to do was make a baker hate me and kiss someone. I was _so_ impressed with what I had accomplished. I hadn't done anything like geting out of here – no, just those simple things.

I wished I was impressed.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, changing the subject. I needed to distract myself.

"The beach," he said. "It's the only place I thought where you could really take a break."

I had to smile. Will was ridiculously sweet – I wondered how many other reasons it was that I had gotten butterflies in my stomach.

* * *

When we arrived at the beach, the sun had nearly fully set. The final rays of the sun danced on the far horizon before completely fading. I couldn't help but wonder who would only first be seeing the final rays of sun that I had seen.

I took my shoes and stockings off and set them on the sand. Will followed suit. The sand going in between my toes brought back memories – the vacation that I was supposed to have, the time I tried to time-travel back to present-day Jamaica...

Foolishly, I wondered if, this time, I would go back to my time.

Picking up the skirts of my dress with one hand and taking Will's by the other, I walked towards the water, though Will seemed unenthusiastic.

"Christine," he protested.

"Will," I mock protested.

"Don't go in the water," he warned.

I walked into the cool water, letting go of his hand, and looking at him with a smug smile on my face all the while. I stopped until I was knee deep, both of my hands holding my skirts above the water. Will looked disapproving, yet playful at the same time.

"You'll get your dress wet," he said.

I dropped my skirts. Instantly, the began to sink down.

"Oops," I said. "Looks like I already did."

Will smiled playfully, then finally walked into the water. I went in further to have him chase me, but he caught me before long, grabbing me by the waist, and simply standing in the water with me.

"It wasn't safe to let you be alone in the water," he said, softly and playfully.

I laughed in reply and kissed him, wrapping my arms around his neck. I could feel my feet leave the now hip-deep water. I didn't bother to see that I was being picked up, I already felt like I was higher than just a few feet off the ground.

Will was the first to break away, and he set me back down in the water, my feet touching the sand. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Will looked so gentle right now, more than before. I had to smile.

"I love you, Christine."

The smile that had been on my lips began to fade. My blood turned cold, and I could swear that my heart stopped in the most unromantic way possible.

_Love_? No man had admitted to me that they loved me before, and I had never told any man that I loved them.

I looked down at the water. I felt like he said the worst thing that he could have said. I was completely overwhelmed by three words that were used every day for most.

I walked away from him, a sob beginning to rise in my throat, choking me.

"Christine?" he said.

I didn't reply. I gathered my shoes and stockings, breathing choppily.

"Christine --" Will said, going back on shore.

"Don't," I interrupted, not facing him.

As I walked away, I realized that I leaved Will behind with one word as sharp as a knife and as heavy as a rock. All I said was "don't" -- the one word that was crushing him.

I had no idea what to say, and "don't" was all that I could come up with? I felt like a complete idiot. I wanted to disappear.

I was disappearing -- I was walking away from Will, doing the worst thing that I could have done then. Yet, I continued to walk away. I could have gone back and said _something_, like, "Can we talk later?"

But, no, I continued walking away, knowing full well that I was hurting him more and more with each step I was taking.

I didn't turn around to see Will. I couldn't handle his seeing his expressions, and I couldn't handle my emotions that would otherwise surface.

I couldn't feel the wet dress around my legs. I had gone completely numb. I couldn't remember the last time I felt this awful about something I did.

Had I ever felt like this?

* * *

I slammed the door to my room, once at Mrs. Ashford's. I had gotten so upset with what I had said that I was shaking. I felt so many emotions that I wasn't sure I could contain myself.

I was angry at myself for saying what I had said, and I was childishly angry at Will for allowing him to admit his feelings to me. If he had kept his feelings to himself, I wouldn't be fuming in my bedroom!

I was nervous – would things be the same between Will and I after what I said?

I felt anger again -- I always had to screw things up.

I felt sadness – Will was sad over what I had said, and extremely hurt, I knew.

I felt anger again – it was what I had said that caused it.

Out of anger, the strongest emotion that I was feeling right now, I threw my shoe against the wall.

"You fucking cunt," I said to myself, my voice breaking on the last word.

I sat down on my bed and began to sob. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and my chest heaved. It wasn't a typical cry or sob. I couldn't catch my breath with this cry, and I would not stop crying.

I couldn't believe that I had gotten this upset over a guy, but my mind kept going back to how gentle and serene he looked when he said that he loved me – he really_ looked_ like he loved me.

I had ruined all trust between us. I was the first girl that he had loved since Elizabeth, and I had panicked when he told me that he loved me.

What killed me was that he loved me, and I wasn't sure if I could return his love. Besides to friends and family, I had never said "I love you". That was a huge commitment to me – three words was too much to say.

I was absolutely furious at myself.

It was then that I realized something very disturbing

Since I arrived in Port Royal, I hadn't cried over my family or missing home, or the fact that I couldn't go back. I cried over a boy who, at first, I loathed his very being. The first thing that I had cried over in Port Royal was _him_?!

I sobbed harder, only this time into my pillow for some sort of comfort.


	14. Still

Chapter Fourteen

Still

**I'm so sorry for the delay! Don't think I've lost interest or forgotten about this story! The day I was about to post this chapter, my Internet died, and it remained that way for a week. _Finally_, we got our Internet back up, and I'm able to post this.**

**Also, I finally got a job at a local coffee shop! I'm working seven hour days, four days a week, so expect updates to be a _bit_ less frequent. And, yes, for those of you that are wondering, I have opened the shop and worked the morning shift. And, yes, it's as awful as people say it is. Let's face it: at 7:00 AM as a barista, you're downright loved.  
**

**Alright, enough about my personal life and my explanation. Enjoy the chapter, and thank you so much for the wonderful reviews everyone has sent me! I really do appreciate them, and they help me so much!**

* * *

I had fallen asleep sometime between when I had cried into my pillow and when Mrs. Ashford knocked on my door the following morning. It was the rudest awakening I had in some time. My eyes were sore, and I knew I looked a mess. I could feel the bobby pins poking into my scalp, the ones I had never bothered to take out.

Memories of what I had done last night instantly washed over me, knocking me over like a wave. Instantly, I imagined Will's hurt expression that I hadn't let myself see. To me, it was a confused expression, mixed with him looking like he had gotten stabbed in the heart. I let that be the only thing that I thought about for a moment.

What I felt when I envisioned Will's reaction was absolutely gut-wrenching. It made my heart drop to my twisting stomach. If it wasn't true before, it had become true -- I had no heart.

What I had put myself through in that moment, laying on my bed and thinking of him, was one of the most horrible things that I had felt. I couldn't bear to imagine Will's expression any longer, nor what I had made him feel yesterday and today. A lump in my throat began to choke me. I wondered if I closed my eyes, this would all go away.

This was so much different than when I first arrived in Port Royal. I could hide myself from the truth for a while. I could imagine that I was simply in a nightmare, that I really hadn't time-traveled. There was no hiding the truth after a fight. You had the worst morning-after effect, your stomach knotting, immediately wondering about them... I could not fool myself into thinking that I hadn't hurt Will.

I lied in bed, hearing the second knock on the door. I opened my eyes, only to see that none of that had gone away.

I felt that, in every sense of the word, I had arrived in hell.

* * *

I waited anxiously the entire day to see if Will would come into the bakery. I wanted to see him horribly and to apologize, but what would I say to make up for it? "I love you"? I know that I didn't love him, how could I say it back? I cared for him, but I never wanted to truly get attached to someone. I didn't want emotions to get in the way of things. Couldn't two people be happy by just being together and not using _that word_?

On the other hand, I didn't want to see Will. Guilt would seep through me and remain under my skin. He would look too hurt, and I would have to realize that I was the one responsible for it. I felt awful enough for reacting how I did (although, I wasn't apologizing for not saying what he had thought I was going to say). I didn't know if I could face him today. Tomorrow, or the day after, I was sure I could, but the coward in me told me that today was not the day to face him.

While baking the entire day, I waited anxiously for Will. I couldn't help but feel that all my energy waiting for him had been worth nothing: he never came.

I didn't cry that night as I went to sleep. I had begun to accept that Will was angry with what I said – or furious, or that he simply didn't want to talk to me. I was fine not talking to him, either. My silence to him was out of guilt and the dread of seeing him again. I worried what he would say to me.

I had thought everything into the ground, but I had managed to think about it more. Will was all I had thought about the last twenty-four hours. How could I think about him _more_?

* * *

Will didn't show up at the bakery the following day, either.

I knew he was avoiding me.

I began to stop caring. It was too exhausting to care.

* * *

Three days after the incident, I decided to make matters into my own hands and apologize. I refused to be consumed over one word any longer.

Saturday, the third day after the incident, was the day that I was sure Will would visit me. He didn't come during business hours, like I expected. I thought that he would come after Mrs. Ashford had left to get supplies for the following week, but I was left to clean alone.

When I was cleaning the counter, I realized I could no longer think of _him_. I threw my rag down and stormed out of the bakery, went next door to Brown's Blacksmith, and knocked loudly at the door.

My heart pounded so hard within my chest that I thought it would break my ribs. My blood grew hot underneath my skin.

I wondered if Will would answer. I would barge into the shop if I needed to. I was not about to let what happened Wednesday hang between us!

As the moments passed, I wondered whether Will was in the shop or not. I wondered if he was ignoring me. Determined to speak with him after my two days of cowardice, I put my hand in the knob, only to feel it being pulled away from me at the same time.

The door opened, and Will stood before me, with the exact expression that had been all I thought about for three days – confused and looking like he had gotten stabbed in the heart. It was twenty times worse to see his expression.

The silence was painful. I had no idea what to say to him.

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

I hadn't expected a response, nor did I get one. Guilt flooded over me, freezing my heart in the process. I was surprised that I still retained something beating in my chest.

"I'm so, so sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

I hope he knew what I was talking about. Judging by his response (or, lack thereof), I was sure that he knew I was talking about Wednesday night.

"It was..."

I hated admitting it to Will. I hated to admit things and apologize to people.

"...Wrong of me to walk away from you," I continued.

The silence was deafening. The friction between us was so much that it was able to unfreeze my heart and make it nearly break my ribs with it's thumping.

"I'm thinking that, maybe if I apologize, you'll start talking to me again."

Will's deep brown eyes softened ever so slightly.

"It depends on what I have to forgive you for," Will said. "I don't want to forgive you for not saying that you loved me."

A small wave of relief came over me. I was thankful that he wasn't mad at me for not returning the feelings.

"It was more along the lines of the one word that I did say to you," I said. "I'm so sorry, I just – froze. No one's said that to me, not someone like you. I didn't know how to react, and I shoved you away, which is what I shouldn't have done."

Will nodded. I wasn't sure if he was ready to forgive me, though I doubted he was.

"That gives some explanation," he said.

I frowned in confusion.

"You didn't think I walked away from you because I didn't care about you, did you?" I asked.

He sighed. Another wave of guilt washed over me. My stomach tingled with nausea, and I could feel myself blanching. I wished Wednesday had never happened.

"Oh, my God, Will," I said. "I'm so sorry. That wasn't what I meant at all!"

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the doorway to Brown's Blacksmith.

"Don't think for one second that I don't care about you," I said.

I took one step forward, putting my hands on Will's cheeks. Our eyes met, and, once again, I felt a new pit of guilt. Desperation was another emotions added to my growing collection, this time.

"You are all I have now," I said. "If I lost you – especially over something I did -- I don't know how I would live with myself."

The fact that what I said sounded so cliché was completely masked by my desperation. I could not afford to lose Will. He was the only person that I could trust in Port Royal. If I lost that trust... I didn't let myself think about it.

"I've never said _that _to a guy before..." I continued.

I hoped Will knew what I was talking about.

"And I just need some time to say it. It really scares me. Commitment of any kind scares me. If you still want to be with me, you have to know that it _will_ take me a while to say it."

There was a brief moment before Will nodded. Silence then clouded over us.

"Please forgive me," I said, barely above a whisper.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before Will acknowledged that he heard me, though, he kept his eyes on mine the entire time. He took my hands and held them near his chest.

"I forgive you," he said.

It was amazing how much weight three words could have one a person. With Will saying, "I love you", it had brought me down so much. With "I forgive you", it lifted me up as if he was, once again, picking me up in the ocean during our unbreakable kiss.

"Thank you," I said gratefully. "Thank you so much. I am just – so, so sorry --"

"Christine," he interrupted. "I forgave you, why are you apologizing?"

"Because I still feel awful," I confessed.

"Don't," he said.

I expected a small smile from him, but I didn't receive one. His expression remained serious, and I didn't feel as at ease as I usually was, even if he did forgive me.

"I understand that you need some time to say it, and I'll give you as much time as you need."

Will's gentle personality made me melt and feel even more awful what I did. I took my hands from his cheeks and wrapped my arms around him, snuggling into his chest. I felt his hands go to my back. I felt just a bit more forgiven, but I felt as if I had a long way to go, despite his words.

"If it makes you feel any better," I murmured, "You make me get a really weird feeling every time I look at you."

"Still?" he said, nearly playfully.

I remembered telling him the day we kissed that he gave me butterflies and made me flustered around him. I was happily surprised to see that he remembered that.

"Still," I said.


	15. Hot

Chapter Fifteen

Hot

**I don't own the title of the chapter. It belongs to Avril Lavigne.**

**Thank you so much for the reviews! I absolutely love hearing what everyone has to say about the story so far.**

**I'm, yet again, sorry for the wait. I've been so busy lately that I've hardly have time to write!**

**This is a filler chapter for the following chapter, which I hope is more thoughtful, so, I'm sorry if this chapter is at all boring!**

* * *

Sunday was the one day that I was able to sleep in. It was the one day that Mrs. Ashford woke me at 7:00, verses the 4:15 wake-up call that I usually received. I savored the three extra hours of sleep. The exhaustion from the week before had more than taken it's toll on me, heaping on me through the week. Saturday evenings, after washing the kitchen, I always went to my room and crashed into a dreamless sleep.

The night that Will forgave me was no exception. I expected to be full of adrenaline, wide awake in my bed from what happened, but I had fallen asleep as soon as I crawled into bed.

I woke the next morning, not thinking of Will like I expected myself to the night before, but cursing the woman that was knocking on my door, waking me for church. I got out of my bed grudgingly, remembering only then about Will and the night before as I looked out of my window, seeing Brown's Blacksmith.

I walked to the window and leaned against the windowsill, my hand resting underneath my head. The rising sun cast a gentle glow over the blacksmith's shop. I couldn't help but wonder if Will had truly forgiven me. Had he said that he forgave me in hopes of truly forgiving me soon, or could he still look me in the eye after what I said to him?

Of course he could. He had forgiven me last night. Will _held_ me!

I felt like I could never be quite sure with his thoughts, though.

There was another round of knocking on the door.

"Christine!"

Mrs. Ashford's voice cut through the air like a knife. My blue eyes remained steady on the blacksmith shop.

"Get your lazy arse out of bed!"

Such language from such a religious woman – on a Sunday, no less.

"I am," I said.

* * *

After dressing in a light green dress and pinning my hair back, I gathered my rosary and bible from my nightstand, which Mrs. Ashford ordered me to. Those two things were the only things in the drawer of my nightstand. The clutch used to deter it from being empty, but I was all too sure of it's different whereabouts.

I knew that Mrs. Ashford had it. I still didn't know why, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.

I sighed, hated thinking about it. I realized that I would have to sit next to her in St. Hallvard's for an hour, not including the walk to and back from the church. I dreaded spending a moment with Mrs. Ashford. Wasn't it punishment enough to have to work with her six days a week?

Apparently not.

In hopes of seeing Will at church, I tore a small bit of a piece of paper and went to my desk, dipping the quill in the ink, and writing. I still hadn't gotten adjusted to using a pen with such an unusual point, and I felt clumsy writing, almost like a kindergärtner, then tucked it in my bible.

Bible and rosary in hand, I left my room, walking down the stairs to the parlor to meet Mrs. Ashford, who was waiting for me. In silence, we walked to the kitchen, then stepped outside. While Mrs. Ashford locked the front door, I noticed it was insanely hot and the sun was much too bright. With what little skin was still exposed, I could feel it being burned already.

All I could think of was the awful tan lines I would be getting on the walk.

As soon as Mrs. Ashford and I began to walk to the church, we saw Will and a very groggy, hungover man exit Brown's Blacksmith. I could only assume that this man, with graying hair, a stubby beard, and blood shot eyes, was Mr. Brown, from what Will had told me.

Will hadn't met eyes with me yet. He was locking up the shop, while Mr. Brown half-staggered towards Mrs. Ashford and I, wincing at the bright sunlight

"Mrs. Ashford!" Mr. Brown said, a slur still evident in his voice. "Good mornin' to ya!"

If Mrs. Ashford was offended or repulsed, she didn't let it be seen. I despised how good she was at hiding her feelings, but not because I wanted to have as equally fooling of a facade as her. No one could ever know what she was thinking, and I was sure she was the only one who liked that.

"Good morning, Mr. Brown," Mrs. Ashford said, a polite smile upon her face.

Mr. Brown's gaze turned from her to me, a smile on his face, mixed with curiosity and a sort of pervertedness one has after too many drinks – only when looking at someone much younger. His eyes roamed over me, resting at my cleavage. I felt dirty and suddenly felt the need to take a bath.

"Now, who's this pretty li'l thing?" he asked Mrs. Ashford, his brown eyes going up to my blue eyes. "Don't tell me ye've been keepin' a sweet thing like this 'way from us."

My eyes quickly went to Will, who was was walking towards us.. I hoped he would intervene, because all I could send to him were SOS signals.

"She's been here for a month," Mrs. Ashford chimed in. "Christine has been so busy working in the bakery that she's hardly had any time to herself, the angel."

I despised her. She was doing nothing in my favor.

"Ye're a... relative... then?" Mr. Brown asked, his eyes flickering with something that disgusted me even more.

"No," Will said, joining us.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief. I had never welcomed flirtations from forty-something men.

"'N' 'ow would you know, lad?" Mr. Brown chuckled. "'Ave you been speakin' with the pretty li'l bird?"

I knew I was turning red. By "speaking", I knew that Mr. Brown had meant otherwise.

Another awful thought popped into my head: as far as Mrs. Ashford knew, Will and I had barely talked.

I remembered that Mrs. Ashford was the one that told him that, true, but it would only make her more suspicious. As I looked at her and her warm eyes, I could tell that they were really cold and calculating, planning her next move. I wanted to shoot Will daggers for saying it, but Mrs. Ashford would have some sort of evidence for a secret theory. I simply did what my enemy would do: I kept a straight face.

"I told him," Mrs. Ashford said simply.

I looked between the three of them, an awkward silence settling in. My eyes lingered on Will. He seemed confused as to why we were quiet. I doubted he could figure that it wasn't because of what Mr. Brown said, even though I told him Mrs. Ashford couldn't be trusted and that she was really cold and manipulative.

"Should we go to church?" she asked us.

"Yes," Will answered eagerly. I was sure he sounded so eager only so we could avoid the awkward silence.

Will and I walked next to each other, while Mrs. Ashford and Mr. Brown walked together, absorbed in their conversation.

Things were suddenly awkward between us. The same question repeated within me: Was I truly forgiven?

I hardly talked with Will on the way to St. Hallvard's. I couldn't find anything to say. It seemed he couldn't find anything to say to me, either.

* * *

The church was packed. Like every Sunday, it was a full mass, with standing room only. Mrs. Ashford loved getting there early so we could get a seat. I didn't blame her. It was one of the only beneficially smart things for her to do for us.

We sat ten rows back from the altar. I sat between Will, who was on my left, and Mrs. Ashford who was on my right. She, yet again, tuned me out, talking only with Mr. Brown, which left me and Will to ourselves with, yet again, nothing to talk about.

More people filed into the church. The pews became filled with worshipers, and it became hotter yet in the church. I suddenly found myself wishing for the cold winters in Brooklyn, the snow... and I found myself praying for the icy wind.

It wasn't until the mass started that I realized how close Will and I were. Despite the heat, I could feel the warmth radiating from _him_. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had no idea why, either. Was I simply imagining this heat between us? And why, after our awkwardness, was I attracted to this?

The hour-long mass began. The priest began talking, and occasionally the choir sang. I was bored by it all, just like every Sunday. I would have liked to have daydreamed, but I remembered my note that I had tucked into my Bible in hopes of meeting up with Will.

While opening to a random page, I pulled my small piece of paper out of the cover with my thumb and index finger. I kept my Bible open for a few more moments, pretending to scan it over, then closed it, hiding the note in my hand from Mrs. Ashford. Casting a quick glance on her, she seemed focused on what the priest was saying.

I weaved the note into the palm of his hand, which was resting on his leg. I squeezed his hand closed and looked at Will. His brown eyes revealed he was confused. I gave a glance to the note in his hand, then looked back at him, trying to tell him that it was for him to read now.

He must have understood it, for he subtly opened it so that only he could see it. I knew what it said: "Do you still forgive me?"

His brows knit together. I felt my stomach churn, and I didn't have the slightest idea why. I knew it was at the very thought that his reply would be "no".

"We'll talk later," he whispered into my ear.

Even through the heat, I could feel his hot breath tickle my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up again.

Despite the minuscule intimate moment we shared in the church, I could feel my stomach drop. I had a feeling what he was about to say was nothing good.

For the rest of the mass, I didn't daydream, I thought. The only thing that I could think about all was how awkward living next to an ex would be.

* * *

Mass seemed to go on for days. Mercifully, it was over. I left my rosary on the pew on purpose. It would give Will and I a chance to either break up or talk somewhere, whether it was in the church or on the streets.

Mr. Brown, Mrs. Ashford, Will, and I had left the church, and had began walking into the true town of Port Royal. People were entering their shops (I knew they were closed for the day), which had their homes on top of. We were at a bookstore when I allowed myself to speak up.

"Oh, Mrs. Ashford," I said. "I just realized forgot my rosary in the church! Can I get it?"

"Of course," Mrs. Ashford replied.

I looked at Will, hopefully he was reading between the lines.

"Can you come with, Will?" I asked. I could feel myself tense up, and I couldn't hide it. I knew it was visible in my voice.

"Yes," he nodded.

I didn't bother looking back at the suspicious glance that I knew Mrs. Ashford was sending us, the one that only I would detect. Instead, I went straight to St. Hallvard's with Will. I picked up my pace, as well as the skirts of my dress, as to not trip over them.

"You left it on purpose, didn't you?" he asked.

"You catch on quick," I said sarcastically. I knew my remark bit him. It was my fear. I instantly regretted it, and didn't dare to look at him.

"Is something bothering you, Christine?" he asked gently.

I knew what he was really thinking: _What the hell is wrong with you?_

"Yes!" I said. It came out in such a high tone that I squeaked – or it could have been from the fact that a lump was forming in my throat.

My worst fear came to mind: I was going to cry in front of Will. At that moment, I knew I was going to. I knew he was going to break up with me, and, like the cliché that I had not let us become, I was about to cry in front of him.

We entered the church and stayed in the back. It was nearly empty now.

"Talk to me!" I demanded loudly, my voice echoing through the closed church. "You said we'd talk later, and it's later, so – please – tell me what the hell we're doing."

I could see the priest who led the mass was walking towards the altar. At the word "hell", he turned around and made the sign of the cross over me through our distance. He did nothing to my mood. I rolled my eyes.

"What we're doing?" Will repeated, puzzled.

"Yes!" I said. "This... thing! Wednesday! When you said you loved me and I walked away from you! You say that you forgive me, but I get this _iciness_ from you --"

"Iciness?!" he interjected.

As soon as Will repeated, I knew I was wrong.

"Not iciness," I said in an attempt to backpedal. "You just didn't talk with me much today. And things were really awkward between us, and I wondered if you were still mad at me, or if --"

I swallowed. My mouth felt like sandpaper and I thought my ribs would break from my pounding heart. I didn't want to say it.

"If you lied to me last night," I said, much softer than I had before.

Will looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Why would I have lied to you?"

"Because I thought you didn't want to hurt my feelings," I said, putting a hand on my forehead from exhaustion with the situation. It seemed that we just went in circles with this. "You're such a sweet guy, and all you want is the best for people, and you never think of yourself..."

I sighed. I wanted to walk away, but, for once, I needed to be mature in a relationship. I refused to walk away from this. I had already spent so much energy on him, and I felt too strong of a connection to give up.

"I don't want you to forgive me for me," I said. "Forgive me for yourself. I can deal with whatever decision you make."

I knew that was a lie. Could I really deal with a break-up? I had cared about Will unlike anyone I had cared about before.

"Christine," he said, putting a hand on either cheek of mine. "I told you yesterday that I forgave you. Why don't you believe me?"

Besides from that being the first time we each other after mending our relationship, I had no idea why. Was it guilt and the fact that I was scared that I couldn't ever say the L-word to him?

I sighed and stepped away from him looking him in the eyes. "Because I'm worried you're always going to be the one that loves me and that I'll _never_ return the feelings," I said in a low tone.

He looked puzzled again.

"I like you... a lot," I confirmed. "I just know that you're going to love me more, because I'll never be able to say it. And I'm so sorry, Will. I feel like shit over it."

Will put a hand on my shoulder. "Is that why you're acting like this?"

"I don't know!" I said, all too aware that I was whining. "I have never felt this confused over someone in my life, and it's not fair!"

"Christine," he said gently, putting his hands on my cheeks again, forcing me to look at him. "Christine, I'm not upset that you didn't say that you loved me. As long as I have you, that's all that matters to me. I will give you as much time as you need, I promise. Even if you never say it... I know that you trust me very, very much."

I couldn't believe how caring Will was. I wondered what I had done to deserve someone as caring as Will to be a part of my life. God only knew that I didn't deserve him.

As I gazed into Will's chocolate brown eyes, I knew that he meant exactly what he said. He was giving me the space that I needed.

Like every time he looked at me, just a little more of me melted away. I wondered if, one day, I would tell him that I loved him.

I drew my lips into a thin line and nodded, latching my hand onto his, which was still resting on my cheek. I met his eyes again. I couldn't help but feel a little ashamed and selfish. He was constantly giving, and I had done all the taking.

It was in St. Hallvard's I realized I might have been having an epiphany: was I falling in love with this kind, unbelievably forgiving man that I had despised at first for those very reasons?

My breath ran short at the very thought. I wasn't sure if I had been that terrified in my life.

I kissed him in an attempt to mask my feelings, but that only made things worse: I had kissed Will just moments after I wondered whether I loved him or not. That did _nothing_ to clarify my feelings.

"I do," I whispered. "I trust you very, very much, Will."

_You do not love him_, I thought to myself. _You're afraid of commitment, Christine. Saying that you love him would ruin you._

I did what I always did when I didn't want to face something: I walked away.

I stepped away from him and grabbed my rosary from the pew, clutching the beads in my hand.

"Mrs. Ashford's going to wonder where I am," I said. "I really need to get back."

I was kicking myself inside my mind. Will seemed to accept it, though. He knew it was in my nature to walk away, while he would have stood and fought whatever battle with himself he faced.

"Would you like me escort you back?" he asked.

A smile crept upon my full lips. I knew he wouldn't dare to talk about the matter in public, and I was sure he would be as courteous as the day we met.

I tugged at one of his hands and looked into his eyes. "I would love that, Mr. Turner," I said.


	16. Sheer

Chapter Sixteen

Sheer

**I'm sorry for the short chapter, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless. :D**

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Will and I no longer talked about the incident of The Word. Things were nearly the same as before. Monday had been a bit awkward over our daily lunch, but we had eased into our usual conversations. By the end of the week, it was almost as if nothing had happened between us.

During that week, I realized that I should have grown up. When something had come up in a relationship, especially something that was my fault, I knew I should have been the one to correct it. I was seventeen, turning eighteen in October. I felt that I should have been more mature than I was, but I didn't bother to. Will seemed to tolerate it for now, but I couldn't help but wonder how much longer he would. I wondered if he thought I was going through a stage where I would still refuse to take the lead and claim responsibility for my actions. I knew he wondered when I would start acting like an adult.

This was all new to me. My previous relationships had hardly any substance. I had never talked about my true feelings with a guy, nor a future of any sorts with them. I knew I had never loved a man before. It had always been lust, knowing that they wanted a body, not emotions.

After I thought about the difference between the time I spent with my then-boyfriends and the time I spent with Will, I wasn't even sure if I could call them relationships. Before, all I had done with guys was play with them, but, with Will, I had almost wanted to take it slower and be gentle with him. He was the type of person that I had begun to constantly worry over what I would say to him, just because I was convinced I would say the wrong thing. Just by that, I knew that I cared about him more than I had cared about anyone before.

At the same time, I was completely myself around Will. He accepted me for exactly who I was. Will tolerated my swearing and the fact that I was not ready to be in a serious relationship. God only knew why he did. I felt almost selfish for that reason alone.

Friday night had come, and I decided to try and leave work behind me. Will took me to the beach again. It was the same one where we had gone before -- the night I tried to get back to my family, and the night that I had learned a few things about life.

We sat on the sand, and I had taken my shoes and stockings off, digging my toes into the soft sand. Will sat next to me, his shoes and stockings off, and his feet in the sand, as well. I held his hand and sat in silence. It was a relief to have the cool, refreshing wind on the warm August night be the only thing between us.

The stars twinkled above us, and the waves of the ocean gently lapped onto the shore. For the first time, I truly felt like we were lovers.

Lovers -- I loved the term. It made things seem so uncomplicated and the way things were supposed to be. Suddenly, the words boyfriend and girlfriend seemed complicated, and the million terms of what one really was. A lover simply was a lover – they loved each other.

"Christine," Will said. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," I said.

"It may sound silly," he said.

Curiosity began to tug at me.

"What is it?" I asked.

A small wind came through, easing the silence between us.

"What are your views on marriage?" he asked.

The worst thought came to mind – he was proposing. Immediately, I panicked..

"Why?" I asked, nervous.

As I looked into his brown eyes, it became clear it was not his intention to have me panic over the word "marriage". It was just a casual question and, as always, I was the one to ruin a perfectly good moment. Mentally, I began to kick myself.

"I'm not proposing marriage" he said, backpedaling. "Unless that's what you would like me to do."

"No!" I said quickly.

I realized I replied too quickly and sharply. I closed my eyes and exhaled.

"I mean... I just don't believe in marriage," I said.

I could only pray that was a good enough response for him. He seemed to accept it – then again, Will accepted every flaw of mine.

"May I ask why?" he asked.

I knew that Will knew why. I wondered why he even asked.

"I don't like commitment," I said. "I can't even say _that_ to you."

I hoped he knew what I meant by using the word "that".

"I just... I can't commit. Being with one person for the rest of your life? You're bound to want to divorce or kill the person you're with fifty percent of the time!"

Being with one person for my whole life made me want to go insane. Saying that I loved them was just one step closer to that. I refused to ever say that I loved a guy or marry them.

"Do you believe that you'll ever love a man?" he asked.

His comment didn't sting me like I thought it would. It wasn't bitter, it was almost casual.

"No," I said. "I'll sleep with a guy, I just won't tell them that I love them."

The truth came out like vomit. I didn't even realize that I had said it until I heard myself. I practically froze when I heard myself say it. Will knew something that I tried to keep from him -- I was not a pure girl like he had hoped for me to be, and I knew it was going to be another awful evening at the beach.

"Y-You've slept with a man before?" he repeated.

He was shocked. I was surprised that he didn't have a feeling that I wasn't a virgin. He knew I was as loose as a whore.

"Did he force you --"

The fact he thought I was raped made me furious. Did a woman really _have_ to be a virgin?

"No!" I interrupted. "I chose to."

I paused. I had worked myself into this, now I had to dig myself out only through the truth.

"It was four," I admitted to his previous question.

I wondered how much of it I should come clean with. I knew Will would want honestly. He was honest with me about everything.

"I lost my virginity shortly after my sixteenth birthday to my boyfriend of three weeks. I thought that would be a little more commitment-free rather than some long relationship. To me, it was. That didn't work out, but I wasn't broken about it, like most girls would be after things didn't work out with their first. I moved onto the next three guys gradually."

Will kept a straight face, but I could tell he was absolutely shocked.

"I got called a whore all the time after I lost my virginity to a guy I had been going out with for three weeks. The title went away after I slept with more guys. I think people just stopped caring."

I was getting off topic. I kept my voice calm. I wasn't ashamed, I just knew that Will had probably wanted to see a girl everyday who was a virgin and not a slut.

"Please don't think I'm a whore," I said.

Will was still quiet. I wondered if he would ever speak again. The silence was painful.

I remembered that we had been talking about marriage before I had let it slip that I wasn't a virgin. I had to, somehow, bring marriage into the conversation.

"I don't believe women have to be virgins when they marry," I said.

Will licked his lips, then spoke. It was such a relief to finally hear him say something.

"Is sex nothing to you, Christine?"

By his wording, I knew he had been hurt or shocked by it, but his tone remained steady.

"Not really," I admitted shamelessly. "I don't believe a girl has to fall in love with a guy just because they're having sex."

"It's reserved only for a man and his wife," he said.

"That's what everyone else here would say," I said. "I'm not from around here, though. I come from a place where more people break that rule and where it's not nearly as frowned upon."

Will sighed softly. I didn't feel bad about what I said or what I had done, I just felt awful about making him feel this way.

"Will, if anyone else knew, think of the reputation I would get. Think of what I would be called. I'd be called the Great Prostitute everywhere I went! The bakery would be busier than ever just because men would think that they could sleep with me during my thirty minute break I take each day with you."

I looked down at our hands. Surprisingly, they were still intertwined. He had never let go, and I had the courage to hold his hand.

"I told you this because I trust you so much. You are the only one I can go to for these kinds of things, and I _know_ you won't abandon me."

It shocked me how much Will put up with me. Four men had me before he would have a chance to, and I said that I trusted him – not loved him.

"You'll never get married, then?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No," I said. "The thought of a wedding appeals to me, just because I love big parties and I want to pick something extravagant to wear. Other than that..."

_No wedding_, I thought.

I wondered why Will had brought the topic up in the first place. Had he planned on proposing to me?

I had, yet again, just shot him down. I was a horrible person.

"Sorry," I said softly.

He grazed his thumb over the back of my hand. "It's fine, Christine," he said.

He was calm, but I couldn't help but wonder how much longer he was willing to tolerate me and the things I did. Was this the last thing he would tolerate, no matter how minute my next wrong thing was?

Will sighed again. This time, I could recognize that sigh. It was the one saved for when someone had over-thought every aspect of a relationship. They knew the relationship was doomed, but, at the same time, didn't want to stop loving the person. I had heard that sigh from myself many times, alone, trying to sleep. This time, Will had sighed it, and I was putting him through what so many guys had put me through before.

I didn't want to be the one that he put himself through agony for. I wasn't worth it. We were too much of opposites, and he was better off with a virgin who played by the rules.

I wasn't surprised when I exhaled the same sigh a few moments after him.

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**I plan on finishing this story in just a few chapters. If it doesn't seem like much has been going on, all that I'm going to say is that I know you all will demand an explanation... when I give one to you is up to me, I suppose!**


	17. She is My Death

Chapter Seventeen

She is My Death

**Thank you for the reviews, and enjoy the chapter!**

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Another month passed. I had been in Port Royal, away from my family and with Will, for three months. It seemed like centuries. Being away from my family was agony, but I began to miss them less and less. I supposed that knowing there was no means of contact or returning to them left me with no option. I was forced to adjust to the life in Port Royal, and I had – as much as one could, that was.

The rest of August seemed to simply go by. My feelings with Will continued to be as mixed as always. A little voice in the back of my head questioned me each time I saw him, asking if I loved him. I didn't know. I refused to actually love a man, but I couldn't help but wonder -- I had questioned myself so many times on the matter... was a part of my questioning true? Did I more than trust Will?

I refused to believe it. I didn't want love. I liked things the way they were, even if they were awkward or strained, at times.

If Will was unhappy with things, he didn't speak up. I knew he was holding things back, or, at the very least, had been. He never told me I was a slut, or that I didn't deserve him because I had been with four other guys before him. There was no doubt in my mind that he would _never_ say a thing like that, but I had a feeling all his pent-up emotions with me would spew out someday. I knew it would be ugly.

Since the night at the beach, the topic of marriage and sex was never brought up.

For once, Will was not the one giving me my problems. The moment we moved onto stable grounds with each other – the stablest we had ever been – Mrs. Ashford had been the one to take away my serenity. She seemed icier more than usual, and I knew that her radar was up. I could swear that, since I was, for once, peaceful, she thought something was up.

I still didn't know exactly what she thought I was doing. I didn't know whether she had still taken my clutch into consideration for her theory – God only knew. I began to think that she thought Will and I were working together, and that we were going to do _something_.

Again, God only knew what went through Mrs. Ashford's head.

I started to think that perhaps Mrs. Ashford was plotting against me in the worst way possible and would get rid of me permanently. She hated me enough, I was sure, and she kept her feelings to herself. I wasn't sure if I was becoming that paranoid, or if I was detecting something worse than before. I didn't feel like I was losing my mind, and I refused to let myself believe it – but did one really have to be crazy to feel like someone was going to kill them?

I felt more guarded than ever. Only around Will could I forget my paranoia. Fear, however, still settled in me.

Like Will had said months ago, Lord Cutler Beckett was in Port Royal, and more determined than ever to rid the sea of pirates. I hadn't bothered to keep track of the amount that had been hanged because of him, and I was sure I didn't want to.

The very thought of so many being hanged made me sick to my stomach. They all had families, and some were so young, younger than me. I couldn't believe their lives were already done.

With the many being hanged, I couldn't help but fear for Will's life everyday. I was sick with worry whenever I thought of what could happen if Lord Beckett discovered that a former pirate was living in the heart of Port Royal, and my heart lurched whenever I saw a naval man. I knew Will would be hanged if Lord Beckett heard anything, and I would be powerless to stop it.

All I could do was pray that Lord Beckett kept his eyes on the sea, and not on the land.

Will and I were at the beach one September evening, sitting on the sand, barefoot. My eyes remained on the ebony waters before us, the moon like diamonds on the water. For some reason, Will was the first to come to my mind when I looked at the water.

Silence settled like a raincloud over us. I knew that we were both thinking of Lord Beckett, but both of us agreed not to say anything about him unless it concerned us. Today, it didn't – one pirate was hung, and another brought into the prison. Who knew what the next day would bring?

I tried to think of something to talk about, something that didn't concern Lord Beckett. That was nearly impossible. That was one of the only things that I could think about nowadays, and I knew it was the same for Will. I didn't dare to bring him up, though.

It was a few moments, listening to the lapping of the waves, before I could think of something to talk about.

"Will?" I said softly.

"Yes?" he replied.

I was grateful that I had my my knees hugged to my chest. It was a sort of comfort.

"I get the feeling something bad is going to happen to me," I said.

It took him a few moments to reply. Even then, I could hear the slight waver in his voice, but it was masked with concern.

"How so?" he asked.

It was scary to me to say the truth out loud. It made it seem like Mrs. Ashford's behavior was really happening, and I was no longer imagining things.

"I think Mrs. Ashford's going to try and kill me," I said bluntly.

I looked sideways at Will, and he was floored. He knew that Mrs. Ashford and I didn't get along, but I knew that he _never_ expected me to say that.

"Th-That's a little dramatic, Christine," he said, still in shock.

"It isn't!" I said, exasperated. "If you saw the way she looks at me, the way she examines my every move... behind those stone, cold eyes, I know that she's calculating something horrible. She's making something up in her mind, that I'm some sort of threat to her --"

"How?" he interrupted.

"I don't know! I don't know why the hell she wants to kill me. All I know is that she wants me rid of forever. I don't know how she's going to do it. She could do it when I'm sleeping, she could do it when I have lunch with you, even, by poisoning my bread and not your's!"

Every emotion that I didn't know that I felt about Mrs. Ashford tumbled out. I was so frustrated with her, but I quickly became terrified. My stomach was being twisted into knots so much that I would swear it would never become undone. The very thought that she could kill me whenever she wanted was the most terrifying thing I could ever think of.

"She may not do it right away," I said, trying to steady my shaking voice. "She may wait a week, a month... maybe a year."

I felt nauseous after I had confessed. I wondered if Will thought I had gone mad, once and for all, or if he even believed me.

I sighed. "I think she thinks we're working together on _some_thing. She gets the wrong idea when I leave the bakery to go out with you. She doesn't understand that this is a time for us, and not a time to plot."

"Plot what?"

I wondered whether Will wasn't listening to me, or if he was still in shock that I thought I would be killed by Mrs. Ashford. Maybe he thought I had lost my mind, and he was in shock with _that_, and he was so shocked he couldn't form a sentence.

"I have no idea what she thinks we're plotting, Will," I said, trying not to snap at him. "For all I know, it could be _her_ death."

A chilling thought came over me, one that made me sick to my stomach. Mrs. Ashford and I were no longer fire and gasoline, like we had initially been when we met. This was no longer a simple rivalry. It was now of a game of survival, and there would be no winner until the other was dead.

Ice pumped through my veins. I couldn't believe it had take me three months to realize that my life was in danger. She had been planning to kill me for_ three months_. That was more than enough time to have something fully planned, in which she could execute whenever she liked.

I was so scared that I could have sworn I felt my heart stop beating.

When I looked at Will, he was in utter disbelief and shock. He looked as white as pearls, and I knew that it wasn't the moon that made him look like that.

"No – Christine," he said. "Mrs. Ashford is a good person. She wouldn't dare kill someone --"

"What do you know about her?" I snapped. "She was your neighbor, and you just see her for a few minutes a day. I work and live with the woman, I know exactly what she's thinking, and it's about killing me – it's what she's always thought about!"

Will looked aghast. "How can you say that?"

"How the hell can you sit here while I know my life is in danger?!" I said, my voice rising. I hadn't been this furious in years. The only person I trusted was not going to save my life.

At that thought, tears sprang to my eyes. I blinked them back as fast as I could. I was so frustrated and terrified, and my heart raced like never before. I could bring myself only to keep my eyes on Will. He seemed taken aback by my statement, but he tried to look more calm.

"What do you want me to do, Christine?" he asked.

I swallowed. My throat was hurting so much. I knew I was going to cry.

"I don't know," I said in a whisper. I refused to cry in front of him. "Our only option is to get out of Port Royal."

"I'm in a contract with my apprenticeship," he said. "I can't leave until I'm twenty-one."

The only thing that was holding Will back from leaving was his contract. I could go now if I wanted, but it was unspoken that where one went, the other one went with.

"And how long is that?" I asked.

"One more month," he said.

I could only hope that Mrs. Ashford didn't kill me within that month. I bit my lip in thought – terrified by the thought that one month might not be enough, and of how close we would be cutting it if we did, indeed, manage to get out of Port Royal in time.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Anywhere. I don't care. Whichever voyage is the cheapest."

The only question now was if just one month's time was enough. Would time be on our side, or would Mrs. Ashford already have carried out my demise?

"All I know is this," I said. "She is my death, and I am hers."

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**Just to let you know, I'm pretty sure the next chapter for this story in your inbox will be your final one. I'm open to doing a sequel, though!**


	18. The Final Days

Chapter Eighteen

The Final Days

**This is the final chapter!**

**I want to take a moment to thank all who read this, and a special thanks to all who reviewed. I hope that you enjoyed it!**

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September had been the slowest month of my month. I had woken up each day, fully aware that I was alive, but instantly dreading the next day. Would I able to wake up one more time?

Mrs. Ashford had gave no signs that she was going to kill me. Her attitude was no different than it had been for the past month. I had gotten used to how she acted, so much that I began to wonder if I imagined it all. Had she even wanted to kill me in the first place?

I half-believed I had gone insane. Mrs. Ashford hadn't killed me, and I could swear, only a month ago, in September, that my days were numbered. She had done absolutely nothing to me, and that frightened me more than if I woke up to find her standing over my bed, a knife in her hand.

It terrified me to think that I was, just maybe, going insane. I wouldn't let myself believe it. I could have sworn that Mrs. Ashford was going to kill me!

Will had never mentioned that he thought I was insane. As ridiculous as it was, it made us closer, in a sense. The only thing we seemed to talk about was us moving out of Port Royal.

Will's twenty-first birthday was on October 4, which was the same day that his apprenticeship contract expired. My eighteenth was exactly one week later, on the eleventh. We decided that we would leave somewhere between those two dates. We would each have the chance to gather everything that we could in secret, and we would have the chance to collect the money for our voyage.

With Will as an apprentice, and me simply working for Mrs. Ashford, neither of us had more than a few dollars – shillings, in Port Royal – to our name. I would steal from Mrs. Ashford, if I had to. My life was more precious than a few coins of hers.

Will and I agreed that, by no means, would we be separated once we got to our destination. We agreed to live together. That was where our troubles began to brew. Will thought that we had to be married to live together. I protested, saying that we could pose as siblings. True, the only thing that we had in common were the brown hair. Apart from those, we had nothing in common with our looks: the brown and blue eyes, the square- and heart-shaped jaw... we resembled two hidden lovers, rather than siblings.

Concerning our housing status, neither of us would agree on the other's view. Will's morals were in the way, and my not wanting to marry him prevented us. We knew that one of us would have to give in, and I had an awful feeling that Will was not about to give up his morals. At the end of the day, I knew that it was just important that we were hidden together, and I would do whatever it took.

Nearly anything, that was.

It became more pressing to get out of Port Royal on Will's end, too. Lord Beckett was arresting more pirates lately, and we both knew that it was only a matter of time until Lord Beckett's eyes turned away from the sea and to the land, where pirates-in-hiding were.

I prayed the day wouldn't come where Will was taken away in shackles from his shop. All I would be able to do was scream at the soldiers through my sobs. Even though Will needed it more than me, he would find some way to comfort me.

Those thoughts came up every day. I couldn't bear to have Will taken away from me, especially not when we were this close to leaving. Those thoughts kept me up the night, and I became more terrified each day that that would become a reality.

I didn't think I could worry about someone as much I could worry about Will. It seemed that all I thought about was his safety and whether we would leave Port Royal.

The night of October 3 came. I felt like Will and I had finally made it – it was only a matter of time until we could leave. At the very least, we would be gone in mere hours, away from Mrs. Ashford and Lord Beckett, and, at the very most, it would be eight days until we left. I prayed that it was sooner, rather than later.

I met Will behind the blacksmith's shop that evening, just to wish him an early happy birthday, and to discuss our plans to leave once more.

My left side was against the hard wall of the blacksmith shop, and I held one of Will's hands, looking down at our two joined hands. It seemed so innocent, as if we didn't have a care in the world. From an outsider, I was sure we appeared like we were two quiet lovers, basking in each other's presence.

That was hardly the case. We were both unsure of the fate that awaited us. A twist of fate might ruin our plans of escaping – be it Mrs. Ashford's or Lord Beckett's doing.

"Just two hours until you're twenty-one," I said softly.

I looked up at his eyes. In the dark, I could only see two black orbs.

"Don't you think you're getting old?" I said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"You keep me young."

I could tell that his birthday was not the first thing on his mind. It seemed forced to say that, but, at the same time, I could tell that he really felt it. Despite the fact, a ghost of a smile danced on my lips.

"That must mean you don't have to worry about me like I'm a child anymore," I said frankly.

"Quite the contrary," he said. "Your energy keeps me young, your spontaneity, your..."

He was at a loss for words. He was, for just a few moments, beginning to stop worrying about what would happen in the next few days. Like me, he was trying to realize that this may be one of the only days that we had together, and he would need to put all other distractions aside for just a moment.

His brown eyes turned from a distance caused by distraction to a softer, more engaging look, the only expression of his that I had been able to recognize in a while.

"I've never met a girl like you before," he said softly.

I mustered a half-smile. It didn't feel right to talk about these things, not now, not when this week would change the course of our lives forever, yet, I didn't want Will to think about what could happen to us.

I thought it would be best to talk about our departure, but try my hardest not to work in a "what-if?".

"What day should we leave?" I asked, trying to change the subject. "We need this set in stone, who knows what could happen if we don't plan."

I already worked in a "what-if?". I realized that, as I said it, I didn't care. Both of us needed to sober.

Will's expression changed back to distant, and I could tell he was thinking, considering. He didn't look as he always did when he thought. He seemed more serious, and I tried to keep any and all questions to myself.

"Tuesday," he finally said. "Call me superstitious, but that is October 7, and I do consider seven to be a lucky number."

"Lucky number seven works as well for me as any other day," I said. "We're still on for 3:30 in the morning at the docks?"

He nodded. Something seemed different about him. He seemed distant, yet, at the same time, jumpy. For a moment, I wondered if it was about Beckett, but I was sure I would have heard something, if that were the case.

"Christine, another pirate was arrested today," he said softly.

I nodded. I hadn't heard about that one. As far as I was concerned, it was another brick into the irrelevant wall of ours.

"The pirate had lived in Port Royal for fifteen years. He owned a bookstore and completely changed his ways. He was a good man. He's to be hanged at noon tomorrow."

I immediately felt faint. A man that had lived on land for fifteen years was to die tomorrow, despite the fact that he had turned his life around? God only knew how close they were to getting Will now.

"Oh, my God," I breathed, placing a hand on my stomach. I looked to the ground, and I was absolutely convinced that I would faint. "No... no."

"We need to get out of Port Royal as quickly as we can."

Will's tone was hushed, yet urgent, which I could barely notice through my shock. Things seemed to fade in an out: the sounds, the sight...

"I'm hoping that with luck, we'll gather enough money in time to leave on the seventh," he said. "If we don't, I know that our days are numbered."

_Our days are already numbered!_ I thought.

A sob constricted my throat as fear pulsed through me. Nausea settled into my stomach. I still couldn't believe that someone in hiding was to be killed tomorrow. Will wasn't far behind, and our need to leave was more urgent than ever.

I wouldn't let myself believe the truth. I didn't want to believe that there was a very high chance that the only person in my life was to be killed.

"Don't say that!" I said fiercely.

I quickly straightened myself up and put a hand on either of Will's cheek, partly to keep myself standing. Even though I tried to keep my breathing even, I could feel my chest heaving. It was even harder to keep the tears back now.

"I will not let anything happen to you," I promised, my voice low. "I love you. I promise to destroy whoever tries to destroy you.."

Even as I said it, I wasn't sure if I really meant it. Did I love Will, or was I just saying it to offer comfort to Will? His days very well could be numbered, and I knew that, if he had to, he could die satisfied with something.

Or, had my true emotions finally come out?

I was shocked that, even though I said it, I had no idea whether I loved Will or not.

As much a milestone as saying that I loved him was for me, Will knew that now was not the time to celebrate it.

He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and kissed me lightly on the lips, removing my hands from his cheeks. He held them instead.

"We'll be out of here in four days," he whispered. "Come Tuesday morning, we'll be on a ship to start a new life."

_Without a shilling to our names_, I thought.

None of us said anything. We remained absolutely silent. It was fully hitting me, and I had a feeling it was hitting Will, too.

I knew that we were both in mortal danger. One – or both -- of us could easily be killed in the four days awaiting our departure. We both had the same likelihood. of being killed. Leaving Port Royal would be our reward for getting out of one of our most terrifying situations.

My only hope was that we would be alive to get our reward.

* * *

**I'm willing to make a sequel if enough people want one!**

**Thank you so much for reading!**


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